


Bottlenecked Redux

by ladyeternal



Series: Bindings 'verse [7]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst and Feels, F/M, It happens off-screen though, Keller baiting Neal, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyeternal/pseuds/ladyeternal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A former rival returns, challenging Neal to take up an old gauntlet.  Have Neal and Peter finally found a felon that can outwit them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bottlenecked Redux - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: All Season 1 episodes and the other fics in my [Bindings](http://archiveofourown.org/series/111824) ‘verse.
> 
> Warnings: A bit of blood and violence in this first chapter, but hopefully nothing too gory. Canon off-screen death of a minor character.
> 
> Disclaimer: The series White Collar, its characters and settings are the property of their respective creators. I own little more than a tabby that gets destructive when he feels ignored, and am only playing with the White Collar world for my own amusement and the free entertainment of others.
> 
> Title card by [](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dawnie-faith.livejournal.com/)**dawnie_faith** . Comments = Love. ♥
> 
> Music: [It’s Not Over ‘Til It’s Over – Starship](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Starship:It%27s_Not_Over_\(Til_It%27s_Over\))  
> [In The Air Tonight – Nonpoint](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Nonpoint:In_The_Air_Tonight)  
> [Broken – Lifehouse](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Gracenote:Lifehouse:Broken)  
> [Possession – Sarah McLachlan](http://lyrics.wikia.com/Sarah_McLachlan:Possession)

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

“Realists don’t fear the results of their study.”

No matter how many times Neal and Peter had come back to Neal’s suite in June’s house with passion riding hard, Moz was never sitting there waiting for him. His old friend, either by blind luck or by guidance from on high, only ever appeared unannounced on days like today, when Peter had dropped Neal off after a long day at work and Neal was engrossed in his mail as he walked into his suite, rather than Peter’s lips. Neal liked to think it was a sign that somewhere, in some pantheon of deities, someone found him at least mildly entertaining. “Then why don’t you find me more favorable results, Dostoyevsky?”

“I hit everybody who would or could know about the damn music box,” Moz protested from the couch. “Nothing’s coming up.”

“Well, keep looking.” _I refuse to believe that Alex is the only avenue to the damn thing… if she found out where it is, then somebody else… wait…_ Tossing down the rest of his mail, Neal turned and held up another postcard from his anonymous chess partner. “Moz.”

Moz glanced up and recognized the card. “Ah… your anonymous chess opponent again. Why aren’t you more curious about who’s sending them?”

“I like the mystery,” Neal replied with a shrug. In all honesty, Neal knew he didn’t have much to go on as far as the identity of his opponent went. It wasn’t likely that there were fingerprints on the postcards after handling through the postal service, the post office wasn’t going to give him the identity of the box holder and the chess game itself was simply a series of moves. Neal had tried to find codes in it a dozen times over with no success.

“Your girlfriend’s missing; you can’t find the one thing that might free her… one could say there’s enough mystery in your life,” Moz replied sarcastically. “Where’s the postmark from on this one?”

Neal glanced at the stamped corner, then felt a shiver of dread shoot down his spine. _I really  
need to talk to Peter about better security on my location…_ “There isn’t one.”

“There isn’t one?” Moz echoed, incredulous. “As in, someone hand-delivered this card to your door?”

Picking up the cards he’d previously received from the shelf near the chess board, Neal flipped through to see if he could detect any kind of pattern from the postmarks. He’d tried to find one before; there wasn’t one to be found; but Neal did notice one other major difference about the newest card. “This is odd. The other cards are blank; the new one has a picture of the Natural History Museum on it.” Replacing the previous cards and removing the chess set from the shelf, Neal sat across the table from Moz. “A good mystery makes life interesting.”

“You know the Chinese curse,” Moz warned. “ ‘May you live in interesting times’.”

“Well, you know that’s the first of two curses,” Neal returned calmly.

“What’s the other one?”

“ ‘May you find what you’re looking for’.” Moz offered a small, wry smile and Neal tried to ignore the chill that swept through him at the thought. The shadows suddenly felt deeper, despite the bright afternoon sun still streaming through the windows. “What’s the move?”

“Knight to D7.” Watching Neal carefully as he moved the black knight, Moz saw recognition dawn in those bright blue eyes. _Whoever it is, they just gave themselves away._ “You’ve done this move before, haven’t you?”

 _Yes… and I really wish I wasn’t now. I don’t need him on top of everything else._ “Moz,” Neal sighed in resignation, “I know who I’m playing: Keller. This is our last game.”

“Keller?” Moz sat back, wrapping his head around the new wrinkle. Between Fowler and the Suit, Neal was already taking risks, getting in deeper than he should; Keller was going to make everything worse. The competition between Keller and Neal had always clouded Neal’s judgment… mostly because Kate had become the object of their contests. “Well, looks like he’s in New York. Who won?”

“I don’t know,” Neal admitted, taking the postcard back from Moz. “We never finished playing.”

“If I know Keller, he’s got more than finishing a chess game on his mind while he’s in town.” Moz glanced meaningfully at the card in Neal’s hand. “And he knows where you live, which means he probably knows everything else.”

Neal nodded, carefully reassessing everything he knew. Keller obviously intended for Neal to follow the trail he was leaving. _It’s where he’s leading me that I don’t know… and I don’t dare walk in blind._ “We don’t have enough information. Can you poke around quietly? See if you can find out what he’s up to?”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“Start looking for clues.” Neal turned the postcard back over in his hands, gazing at the museum pictured on the front. “Keller gave me the where… maybe the FBI can give me what and when.”

Mozzie smiled at him. “The Suit won’t mind?”

 _If I can manage it, Peter won’t know anything about this until I know for sure what Keller’s up to… I don’t want him around Keller any more than Kate…_ “I’ll deal with Peter when I have to,” Neal hedged. He didn’t want Moz knowing how possessive of Peter he really was… didn’t want Moz knowing much of anything about his relationship with Peter. Moz would never understand. “Just find out what you can tonight and get back to me.”

“What about the box?” Moz pressed. He could see the edge on Neal’s face, hard and angry. _If Keller’s roaming around free and Kate’s in the city… if Keller paid her a call and Neal finds out…_

“Keller takes priority until we know for sure what he’s up to,” Neal replied flatly. “Whatever game he wants to play, I want to know what it is and how to end it as fast as possible.” Moz nodded and left, and Neal shucked off his jacket and shirt as the door clicked shut, wrapping his hand around the ring Peter had given him. The weight was comforting in his palm, letting him clear his mind.

_If Keller’s here, he’ll be looking for Kate… looking for ways to get to me… and if Moz is right and he knows about my deal with the Bureau, then he knows about Peter, too… I can’t let Keller near either of them… Fowler’s bad enough. I won’t let Keller hurt Peter… or Kate. I won’t._

* * *

Unable to sleep, Neal dressed quickly the next morning and was at the FBI office almost at sunrise. Since it wasn’t unusual for agents to work around the clock, security was surprised to see Neal arriving at such an hour, but gave him no trouble about coming in unescorted.

Moz had confirmed that the Museum of Natural History had been robbed only two days prior. The NYPD had handled the case, and had arrested someone with the items in his backpack. A little charm had the file in his hands an hour later, and Neal pored over the details with increasing concern. _It’s definitely Keller’s hand behind this… this Campos kid would have no reason to take anything on this list; there’s no street value for any of it… at least not as they are… but if I’m right, and Keller’s doing what I think he’s doing… this so isn’t what I need right now… if I could find an excuse that would make Peter let me off the leash for a while, I could get down to Queens and talk to this kid… make sure before I tell Peter what’s going on…_

Immersed in the file, Neal almost didn’t notice Peter walking in past his desk. Peter acknowledged Neal’s presence on autopilot, and Neal replied on instinct. At any other time, the routine greeting wouldn’t have raised any flags. But Peter’s stride faltered and he turned only a few steps past Neal’s desk, realizing belatedly that Neal wasn’t usually in for at least another two hours. “You’re here early.”

It was neither a question nor an accusation. Merely a statement of fact. Neal looked up at Peter and knew his chances of keeping Peter in the dark until he was sure of what Keller was planning had just dropped to infinitesimal. “So are you.”

“Whatchya doing?” Peter’s tone was almost sing-song. He could sense that Neal didn’t want him to ask questions, wanted Peter to think this was simply a desire to come in early and do a little legwork on their cases. _He should know by now that I can see right through him._

Instinctively, Neal’s hands splayed over the files on his desk, as if such a move wouldn’t instantly alert Peter to the fact that Neal was in the middle of something he didn’t want Peter looking into. “Research,” he replied evasively.

The motion didn’t deter Peter even for a second. He walked over to the desk and picked up the blue file folder from beneath Neal’s hand; knowing it would be useless to protest, Neal let out a soft sigh of resignation. “Heist of the American Museum of Natural History,” Peter read, glancing through the face sheet on the file. “Not your normal hotbed of crime and intrigue.”

“Yeah, it’s probably nothing.” Neal knew the moment the words came out of his mouth that they wouldn’t do any good, but he had to try… he didn’t want Peter involved until he was sure what Keller was up to…

“Hold on.” Peter turned as Neal reached for the file, reading further down the face sheet. _What in Hell is Neal doing researching this? There’s something here he doesn’t want me to see…_ “Interesting list of items stolen: antique cork duck decoys from the storeroom. They also took wax-sealed supply list and French soil samples that belonged to Dr. John Bartram.”

“Father of American botany,” Neal supplied helpfully. _Come on, Peter… just decide I’m wasting my time and there’s nothing for you to get involved with… don’t look into this yet… not until I’m sure what Keller’s after…_

Peter glanced down at Neal and read that oh-so-innocent smile for the deflection attempt that it was. _Oh, boy… you really don’t want me looking at this, do you, sweetheart? What are you trying to hide?_ “Just playing a hunch?”

“Oh, they already have a suspect. They caught a guy stuffing his backpack.” _Open and shut case, Peter… nothing to look at… at least not until I’ve talked to Campos…_

“Manuel Campos,” Peter acknowledged, his gaze returning to the file. “He’s out on bail today.” Closing the file, Peter gave Neal a too-sweet smile of his own. “Maybe we should go talk to him.”

Neal winced inwardly, knowing there was no way to keep Peter out of this now. _Best I can hope for is to convince Peter to let me run this down until I’m sure… I can’t let Keller get a shot at Peter… I may not be able to protect Kate from him, but I can keep Peter out of his line of sight for a while…_ “We could do that,” Neal agreed reluctantly.

“Good.” Peter set the file back on Neal’s desk. “Grab your coat; we’ll go now, since we’ve both got the time.”

“I doubt he’ll even be awake, Peter,” Neal hedged. “It is kinda early.”

 _Oh, sweetheart… nice try, but you’ve got my interest now._ “It won’t be that early by the time we get down to Queens,” Peter returned smoothly. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Contrary to what Neal had anticipated, Peter didn’t use the ride down into Queens to interrogate Neal on what had captured his attention about the museum robbery. Instead, Peter seemed quite happy to let Neal change the subject by asking about Elizabeth’s latest events and Satchmo’s vet appointment three days prior. If Neal hadn’t known Peter so well, he might have been lulled into a false sense of security, into thinking that Peter was merely indulging Neal’s interest in the case rather than trying to figure out what motivated it. _He’s waiting… biding his time… he knows he has me and I’ll have to tell him eventually. Some things never change._

Sure enough, they had parked the car and were walking down 206th Street to the Campos’ home when Peter finally brought the subject back around. “I think it’s great you’ve taken an interest in a small-time museum heist.”

“History is important,” Neal replied smoothly, not bothering to take the bait. If Peter wanted answers, he was going to have to work for them.

“Yes: duck decoys and French soil samples.” Peter’s tone was so sarcastic that Neal actually rolled his eyes. “You don’t want me looking into this,” Peter continued more seriously. “Why?”

“I don’t want to waste your time with a hunch.” _And I don’t want you poking at Keller unless this is really something important… if this is just a test, I might be able to get him to leave town without involving you…_

“Cut the crap!” Peter snapped. “What’s going on here?”

 _So much for keeping him out of it. Should’ve known better._ “Look, I’m being honest with you, Peter: I don’t know yet.”

“All right: clearly, there’s something bigger going on,” Peter allowed, giving just enough ground to acknowledge that Neal might not actually have a concrete answer for him yet. “I don’t believe for a minute this Campos is the mastermind and neither do you. Who’s pulling the strings and why do I give a damn?”

Deciding to just tell Peter what he wanted to know, Neal started to explain as they were about to cross the street when a black car came barreling up the roadway. Instinctively, Neal threw his arm across Peter’s chest to shove him back and out of danger…

And the two of them watched in horror as the car accelerated straight into a pedestrian on the crosswalk less then half a block away. There were a series of sickening thuds as the young man’s body was caught by the front bumper, rolled up over the hood onto the roof and then slid like a broken doll off the car, which had decelerated at the last possible instant to take the corner. Inertia carried the limp form a few feet further, and then the victim was lying on his back in the street while the car sped away up 58th.

“That’s Campos.” Neal could barely force out the words, horrified. Across the street, a woman started screaming. _Someone just ran down Manuel Campos… and I’m going to bet every last dollar I’ve ever had that it was Keller…_

Pausing barely long enough to snarl at Neal that he would be told what was going on, Peter ran for the body in the street, dialing his cell phone as he skidded to the ground near the prone, unconscious man. “This is FBI Agent Peter Burke; I need a bus at the corner of 58th and 206th in Queens for the victim of a hit-and-run. Offending vehicle is a black Chevy Impala LS, plate number Echo Michael 55833. Last seen turning left onto 58th Street. Victim is unconscious and badly injured.”

Neal had reached Peter seconds later, speaking quickly in Spanish to the screaming woman who was about to shake the unconscious Campos. It was easy to see that one leg had been broken, his pelvis was probably fractured, maybe a couple of broken ribs. There was no telling how much damage had been done to Campos’ neck and spinal cord from the force of the impact and at least two awkward rolls, plus the head injury.

Time crawled. Peter was using his tie to bind the bleeding head wound. Campos’ wife was sobbing uncontrollably and praying in Spanish. There was nothing close by that could be used to splint the leg, and the other injuries were beyond any first aid expertise either man had. Neal covered Campos with his coat, knowing that the warmth would do little to keep the man from going into shock. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as Neal kept time and Campos’ weakening pulse. Sirens began to scream in the distance.

A faint gagging in the man’s throat. For a moment, Neal was horrified that he might actually be coming around; at least, in unconsciousness, Campos was spared the pain of his injuries. Peter knew better. “He’s choking! Neal-”

Already moving, Neal yanked off his turtleneck and wadded it up under Campos’ head, supporting it as Peter rolled the man onto his side. Bright red blood gushed up from the unconscious man’s mouth, spilling onto the pavement and splattering onto Peter’s trousers as the ambulance came shrieking up the street. “Lung or diaphragm?” Neal asked, bracing Campos’ body on its side with both hands.

“Damned if I’d know,” Peter replied. “Either one’s bad.”

EMTs jumped out of the back of the ambulance, firing questions at both men. Peter and Neal gave the best answers they could as fast as they could, and it wasn’t long before the flurry of activity was gone and they were left alone on the street.

Silence crackled. Neal was shaking, though not from the chill in the air, pale in the morning sunlight. For a moment, all either man could do was gaze at the wake of the ambulance now careening through the streets to New York Hospital of Queens, thoughts whirling. Finally, as if emerging from a dream, Peter turned, bent and picked up Neal’s coat and turtleneck from the bloodied street. Stuffing the turtleneck under his arm, Peter urged the coat onto Neal’s arms and wrapped it around his body. “Come on, sweetheart,” Peter urged. “We need to get changed and into the office. The sooner we do, the sooner we can check on Campos’ condition.”

Slowly, Neal turned to Peter and stared up at him with wide azure eyes… eyes almost blind with fright. Peter could almost forget, most of the time, the effects that blood and violence had on Neal. Stroking comforting hands down Neal’s arms, Peter fought down the urge to kiss the fright away. “I’ve got you, sweetheart… and we’ll get the guy who did this. Come on.”

 _I’m with Peter… Peter’s safe… Keller did this… and if I know Keller, he saw us on the street. He tried to kill Campos right in front of me and he knows I was watching… I won’t let him hurt Peter… with any luck, he doesn’t know where Kate is, and I won’t let him hurt Peter…_ Nodding slowly, Neal let Peter put a steadying hand on his back and lead him back to the Taurus.

* * *

Changing clothes at June’s was swift, almost silent. Glad that he’d started keeping a few changes of clothes here, Peter had gathered Neal into his arms once Neal had girded himself in a suit and tie, brushing sweet, reassuring kisses over his closed eyes. Neal had let him, soaking up the warmth and the safety, needing the comfort after what they’d seen. His arms wrapped tightly around Peter’s chest, letting Peter know he was safe, they were both safe, giving Peter some reassurance of his own.

The car ride back to the office was equally quiet, Neal holding Peter’s hand. It had become an instinct between them, when they were alone in the car, to stay in physical contact unless absolutely necessary. Neal didn’t want to think about that, tried to ignore that his compulsion to be with Peter was starting to take precedence over everything else… including Kate. Keller was a danger to both of them, and Neal needed to focus on finding him before he could do any more damage.

They parted ways in the office without even discussing it. Neal barely acknowledged the other agents around him, focused on pulling together every scrap of data he could find on Keller for Peter. Peter needed to be armed, needed to know who they were dealing with. Needed to know exactly what the game was and why Keller had decided to play.

Barely two hours later, Neal had compiled all the information he could. When he reached Peter’s office, Peter was hanging up the phone, anger darkening his russet eyes. “Manuel Campos just died in ICU,” Peter reported, his voice cold and angry. Neal’s heart sank, guilt stabbing like a knife. “His wife’s a mess; says she didn’t see the driver. NYPD’s out of leads.” Peter fixed Neal with a dark, level gaze. “Tell me who’s responsible for this.”

The same cold anger in Peter’s voice settled over Neal. _I’m not playing games anymore… not when it’s gone this far._ “His name’s Matthew Keller,” Neal replied, handing Peter the file he’d prepared. “Blue collar version of me.”

“Keller?” Peter took the file, surprised at the name and at the quiet rage in Neal’s voice. “He’s been on our radar before.”

“And he always slipped off.” _Just like me… he always had to one-up me…_

“Interpol’s linked him to everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities.” Peter flipped through the file, his mind quickly supplying everything he’d ever heard reported about the man. Keller had never drawn his focus the way Neal had, but Peter had always made it his business to know the names, reputations and rap sheets of every big name in the white collar criminal world.

“Yeah,” Neal agreed as he sat down, “but they never had anything more than hearsay. Keller’s never been caught.” _Of course, he’s never had Peter Burke seriously hunting him, either._

“What is he?” Peter demanded, flipping the file closed. “Some kind of rival of yours?”

“More like an opponent,” Neal replied, splitting hairs. “We met at the Grand Casino; cut our teeth in Monaco working the World Backgammon Finals. Last I heard, he pulled the Stockholm airport robbery.”

“Drove right up to a flight unloading Krugerrands.” Peter remembered the report: remembered being stunned by the audacity and the lack of subtlety that would have graced the plan if it had been Neal executing the heist. “Left fake bombs on the runway so no one could follow.” He tipped his head, not quite able to imagine someone like Keller ever working with Neal. Neal’s heists and schemes were spun out like cobwebs: delicate webs of artistry that snared their prey before the victim knew what was happening. Keller’s work more closely resembled steel-jawed traps. “You met him playing backgammon?”

Neal smiled at the memory. It was a time before Kate, before Peter, when the wind had taken him where it would and he’d been happy to just be swept along… a part of him wanted to go back, to just be free of it all… and a part of him knew that he could never go back to that life again. He wanted other things now… wanted more than that life had ever offered. “Was simpler times.” _If I’d known Peter then… if he’d started tracking me down all those years ago… I’d have seduced him without a second thought… things would have been so different between us… would I have fallen in love with him? Would things between Keller and I have ever gotten so bad if Kate wasn’t such a bone of contention between us?_

Sobering at the thought, Neal took a breath. He could wonder at the might-have-beens later. “If this is Keller, I’m guessing he posted Campos’ bail so he could get rid of him.”

 _And Neal was researching this guy without telling me… he was probably gonna try and get down to see Campos alone, too… damn it, Neal… we keep having the same talk about you taking risks…_ Sighing, Peter decided to reserve commentary on that for another time. “All right: what’s with the museum heist? The cork and the wax?”

“Was a bet Keller and I made a long time ago: counterfeit a bottle of wine owned by Ben Franklin.”

Neal watched the anger flare in Peter’s eyes, scorching in its incredulity. “You and your wine! That’s why people are dying on the street?”

“Marie Antoinette gave Franklin a bottle of Chateau de Munn. It’s rumored to be in private hands, but it’s never gone to auction.” Neal could see that Peter didn’t understand the significance, the history meaning little to him. For Neal, that was part of the allure, integral to what made the Franklin bottle irresistible. “The point is the Franklin bottle _can’t_ be counterfeited.”

 _Ah, so that’s it… that’s why Neal’s eyes have lit up just talking about it. I love that look in his eyes… love the way even thinking about it gives him a thrill, makes him glow… makes him come alive… the only other time I see that is when he’s naked in my arms…_ “It’s a challenge: figure out who can pull off the impossible.”

“May the best man win.” Neal felt the familiar surge in his blood, the desire to take up the gauntlet and do the impossible… in another time and place, he would… he’d find a way around the last obstacle and put Keller in his place once and for all…

“Well, I don’t care about your rivalry.” The cold anger was back in Peter’s voice, a splash of icy water that brought Neal back to Earth, back to the present, where a man had died for the sake of Keller’s attempt to make good on their bet. “If he’s my killer, I want him. Let’s check around: see if there’s any chatter on this bottle.”

Neal nodded, slowly standing up and turning to go as Peter picked up his phone. Guilt stabbed at him again, slowly turning him back. Peter saw it and paused mid-dial. “Peter… I only found out that Keller was in town last night… and I didn’t know what he was up to until this morning… I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure…”

Sighing softly, Peter hung the phone back up, stood and rounded the desk, standing in front of Neal. “It’s not your fault, sweetheart… I don’t blame you, and you shouldn’t blame yourself. Keller’s to blame, and if he wanted Campos out of the way, then Keller would have gone after him no matter when you figured things out.” Reaching up, he put a hand on Neal’s shoulder and gave a comforting squeeze. “We can’t save everybody, Neal. No matter how fast we think or how hard we try, sometimes people still wind up dying.”

The mask in those cerulean eyes cracked, and pain flooded out of them, hitting Peter almost like a blow. Neal did blame himself, because he hadn’t thought fast enough, and a man had died. “How do you live with it?” he asked, his voice low and broken.

Glancing past Neal’s shoulder, Peter could see that they were alone enough for the moment. His hand slid up Neal’s neck to cup his cheek, and then down Neal’s chest, coming to rest over Neal’s heart. He could feel the small, hard lump that was the ring he’d given Neal beneath his hand and the steady drum of Neal’s heart beneath his fingertips. “You just have to hope that you save more than you lose… and remember that every new day is another chance to tip the scale.”

Tears burned in Neal’s eyes, and a wobbly smile of gratitude curved those soft lips. Peter wanted to kiss them, to erase the pain and the guilt and the dark and make everything right again. Neal’s hand came up to cover Peter’s, and for just a moment, they were utterly alone in the world. The building could have fallen down around them, and neither man would have noticed; there was only the soul-searing connection between them, the tingling warmth of skin on skin and azure flame staring into russet embers.

Though neither man could know it, their thoughts echoed the same thing in the same moment. _I don’t want to give him up._

“Thank you,” Neal said finally, breaking the spell before they were interrupted. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find something.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”


	2. Bottlenecked Redux - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimer and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Weatherby’s was auctioning the bottle in ten days. Neal had found out before Peter, knowing more about the circles that news of the bottle would travel in. He wanted to be in on the interrogation of Sir Roland Cadigan, Weatherby’s chief sommelier, but Peter wouldn’t allow it, instead insisting that Neal do more research to find out what else Keller might be up to.

Neal fretted the entire time Peter was in the conference room: not for fear that Cadigan was dangerous, but that Peter would make a misstep that would cost them information they needed. Peter didn’t know wine, was disdainful of the beau monde and loathed being around people who thought they were better than him simply because of wealth and privilege. To someone like Cadigan, who wore his pedigree like a cloak, Peter would be an inconvenience, an unlettered Philistine wasting his precious time. And that would set off Peter’s temper, fast. It wasn’t long before Neal gave up his pretense of research entirely and stood outside the conference room, waiting for Peter and Cadigan to either emerge or come to blows.

There were no explosions during the half-hour that Cadigan was closed away with Peter. Neal wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he was relieved when he saw Cadigan leave in a huff and Peter emerge from the conference room looking smug and holding out a tri-folded sheet of paper. “What’s this?”

“My search warrant,” Peter replied, a gamine grin splitting his handsome face. “Put me down for moo shu pork.”

Looking more carefully at the paper, Neal grinned impishly. It was a menu from the Federal Plaza Chinese Restaurant. “I’m a bad influence,” he remarked, no little note of pride in his voice. _Nice to see Peter bending the rules to get what we need… and I’ll bet he loved putting one over on Cadigan._

 _Oh, you know it, sweetheart… and I shouldn’t enjoy that as much as I do._ “Broker’s name is Grace Quinn,” Peter continued, attempting to be serious again. “Says here she runs an upscale wine cellar called Bin 903. Think we can link her to Keller?”

The mention of Keller’s name had Neal’s reservations reasserting themselves. Keller had already killed once, and that was simply a lackey that was no longer useful and a potential exposure threat. Neal really didn’t want to think about what Keller might do if he found out an FBI agent was snooping around. “Yeah… let me talk to her.”

“What?” _No way am I letting Neal start taking his crazy risks again… not on this case… not when a man has already died… for all I know, Keller’s doing this to paint a target on Neal’s back…_

“You can’t go asking around with a badge,” Neal argued quietly, hoping Peter would see the logic of the argument. “You’ll scare him off. Look, I’ll tell her I’m representing a client who’s interested in the bottle: see what I can dig up.” Peter let out an exasperated sigh, and Neal could see clearly what Peter was thinking. _He wants to keep me safe… doesn’t want me acting on my own because it’s personal between me and Keller… but I have to… I can’t risk Peter getting hurt. I just can’t._ Reaching down, Neal tugged up his left pant leg, letting Peter get a glimpse of the tracking anklet when his gaze followed the motion. “You know where to find me,” he reminded Peter softly.

“Always do,” Peter replied, giving in. Neal stepped past him, handing him back the menu, and Peter turned. “Neal?” Neal paused, turning to meet his eyes just as he was about to descend the stairs, and Peter hoped Neal could see in his gaze everything he couldn’t say out loud. “Be careful, okay?”

Seeing the concern etched across Peter’s features, mirroring his own, Neal felt his heart tug in his chest. Whatever else might or might not be between them, Peter truly didn’t want anything to happen to Neal… and Neal responded instinctively to the safety Peter represented because of it. “I promise, Peter. I’ll check in with you later.”

Foreboding hovered on the edges of Peter’s thoughts, but in the face of that promise, all he could do was nod and let Neal go.

* * *

The meet with Grace Quinn went smoothly enough: she responded to his subtle flirtations with cool banter, neither rebuffing his repartee nor inviting it to become more. Throughout their meeting and his tour of the facility, Neal had the unshakeable impression that she knew precisely who he was and why he was there, but was playing the game at the instruction of whomever had warned her to expect him. It was nothing overt… merely the way she paused before responding to some of his statements, the way she seemed to watch him, as if matching his every move against a playbook she’d been given before ever laying eyes on him…

Whatever instructions she’d been given by Keller, it was obvious that Grace Quinn wasn’t going to step outside her role and tell Neal what was going on. She wouldn’t respond to a more seductive approach, and direct questioning would get Neal nowhere. So he played the role he’d set for himself, and let Grace lead him to the clue Keller had left.

Water Street. Eight PM. Just within his two-mile radius. It was a dangerous move, to meet Keller like this, but Neal knew in his gut that Keller wanted nothing more than to talk… or, more accurately, to gloat and posture and try to make Neal feel inferior. Part of him knew that he should tell Peter, but the protective, possessive part of Neal refused to put Peter within a mile of Keller until he knew what the game really was. It was a risk Neal refused to allow Peter to take, precisely because he knew that if Peter came along, Keller would see exactly what was between them in a heartbeat and would use it against them…

Just as Neal was passing a construction site, his Blackberry rang. “What’s up, Peter?”

_“How did your chat go with Ms. Quinn?”_

“Eh, I didn’t find anything on Keller.” That much was the truth. He’d found nothing that would give any indication what Keller was planning, and even meeting with him tonight was likely to reveal less than Neal wanted.

_“You think he finished the forgery?”_

“Maybe.” Again, not really a lie. Certainly, Keller had pieces that he would need after the museum heist he’d gotten Campos to commit, but entering the bottle for auction in ten days was no guarantee that Keller had everything yet. He had ten days to produce the bottle, meaning he had ten days to complete it. “Look, I don’t know. You find anything on your end?”

_“I might know why he’s running this scam, and it’s got nothing to do with you.”_

Neal smiled a brittle little smile, even though Peter couldn’t see it. “Am I supposed to feel relieved?”

_“I would be. I contacted Interpol; their sources say he’s got a big bull’s-eye on his back.”_

It was getting close to eight; Neal glanced around the street, looking for which way Keller might be coming, hoping that Keller wouldn’t call out to him while Peter was on the phone. But he didn’t dare hang up, not when whatever Peter had found could be useful when Keller finally did show. “Yeah?”

_“Yeah. That Stockholm heist he pulled? It was bankrolled with Russian mob money. Seems the comrades got a little upset when he skipped Europe without giving them their cut.”_

For all that Keller was an opponent, a once-rival for Kate’s affections, and a killer on top of it, Neal felt winded as the reality of that statement crashed into him. There was a reason Neal had never done business with Russian mobsters. “If they catch him now, they’ll kill him.” _And it won’t be a pretty or quick death… it’ll be a death I wouldn’t wish on anyone…_

_“Unless he promised the Russians their money back and then some.”_

“He’s gonna pay off his debt with the money from the bottle.” Neal had to be impressed; it was a daring plan, and served more than one agenda. Keller had a flair for bold plans, grand designs, even if they had a brutal edge that Neal disapproved of.

_“I want you here first thing in the morning. I wanna find Keller before they do.”_

Movement caught Neal’s eye. Glancing into the construction site, Neal saw a man hunched over a small lantern. At first, Neal thought it was a homeless person, making his berth where he could for the night; but something about the figure registered, and Neal knew in his bones that it was Keller, waiting for him. “Me, too.” Hanging up on Peter, Neal ducked through the fence and walked across the lot.

A ditch ran through the ground between them; a long support beam lay across it, acting as a bridge. Keller watched Neal approach with hooded eyes, putting out his cigarette on the beam. “Matthew Keller,” Neal said quietly. _He hasn’t changed… he still has that edge in his eyes… darkness…_

“See you got my postcards,” Keller greeted, standing up.

Neal remained where he was, watching Keller warily. The man was holding a bottle in his left hand, and Neal wasn’t sure if Keller might have any other weapons on him. “Thanks for keeping in touch.”

“Never did get to finish our game,” Keller said casually, lifting one foot to rest on the support beam bridge. “Aren’t you curious to see who wins?”

“Not anymore,” Neal replied honestly, shrugging. He didn’t care about a chess game, or the bottle bet, or any of their contests anymore. Keller was a distraction Neal couldn’t afford, not with Fowler and Kate and Alex and the music box… and Peter… “Manuel Campos died today.”

Keller’s posture became almost exaggerated ignorance. “I’m sorry; who?”

“Your thief,” Neal reminded Keller sharply, knowing Keller was only playing at not knowing. Anger bubbled up inside Neal, the same anger Neal always felt when it came to Keller. Neal had preyed on those who could afford it, those who, in his mind, would come out the other side a little bruised but otherwise all right. Keller didn’t care who he hurt or whose lives were ruined so long as he came out on top. “He had a wife.” _As if that would matter to Keller… as if he would ever actually give a damn…_

A soft, derisive chuckle rolled in Keller’s throat and he stepped fully onto the beam, taking a few steps towards Neal. “Still afraid to get dirty, huh, Caffrey?”

“Violence requires no imagination,” Neal retorted, tired to the bone of repeating the same lines to Keller and knowing Keller could never really understand what they meant. “Anyone can use a gun… or a car.”

“That’s why you’ll always be second-rate.” Neal had to laugh at that, finding the statement utterly absurd. “Yeah!” Keller insisted. “You’re too weak to do what’s necessary to get what you want… including Kate, from what I heard.”

The reminder brought Neal up short. Another wave of anger crashed through him, hot and tingeing his vision red for the barest second. _Keller has no idea… he has no idea what I’m going through for Kate… and if our positions were reversed, he wouldn’t even be trying…_ The smirk on Keller’s face, gloating over the point struck, brought Neal back to himself. “Nice try… but you officially lost that one.”

“You were in prison for what… four years?” Keller’s gaze was steady in the dark, no trace of amusement on his face… Neal felt his gut clench. “Missed a lot of Valentine’s Days.” As if seeing something in Neal about to break, Keller made one final push. “I forgot how endearing it was when she talks in her sleep.”

Rage flashed through Neal again, his vision rimmed red, and he was launching up onto the support beam before he could think, intent only on smashing his gloved fist into Keller’s face and sending him careening into the ditch… following him down… kicking and beating until Keller recanted the lie… it had to be a lie… but lie or truth, he would make Keller pay for saying it… for insinuating… for the wrenching stab in Neal’s gut because it sounded like truth…

Warning beeps coming from his anklet penetrated the haze. He was about to cross his two-mile boundary. A long moment passed, rage battling with self-preservation, before Neal finally pulled his foot back and stared at Keller in impotent fury, bile rising bitter in his throat as he realized how expertly he’d just been played. _I’m going to kill him… sooner or later, he’s not going to be protected by my radius, and I’m going to show him how dirty I can get…_

Keller looked smug, seeing the realization on Neal’s face and reveling in it. “I shoulda warned you, but we’re, uh… at the edge of your leash here. Might wanna take it easy.”

Fury still had Neal in its grip, goading him to cross the line, to take the chance of prison and put Keller down. Keller was the number one suspect in a murder investigation, wanted by Interpol and half a dozen other law enforcement agencies. It would be so easy… and if he talked fast enough, Peter could get him out of whatever trouble would come of it…

“Imagine how I felt,” Keller went on, pulling an almost tragic tone, “when I found out that you, of all people… working for the feds?”

“I step forward and a dozen FBI agents’ll be here in minutes,” Neal warned. It was a threat he desperately wanted to carry out… wanted the satisfaction of seeing Keller laid flat in the dirt, a bruise darkening his jaw, while Peter came riding to the rescue…

“That right?” Keller replied, calling his bluff nonchalantly. “Be my guest. Only one they’d have sufficient cause to arrest is you.”

“Really?” Neal turned and gestured at the ‘No Trespassing’ sign on the fence behind them.

“Trespassing?” Keller sounded incredulous, as if the very idea that Neal would actually rely on that minor charge to get his satisfaction was beneath them both. “Come on, Neal: you’re clutching at straws here.”

“They got Al Capone on tax evasion,” Neal countered, feeling a little control come back. He wasn’t going to take the risk, not now, not when they had nothing to really hold Keller on. They needed more… and Peter expected more from him. _I’m not going to do this… I’m not going to let Keller goad me with Kate… Kate wouldn’t do that to me… she wouldn’t have gone to Keller’s bed while I was in prison… she couldn’t have…_

“You flatter me with the comparison.”

Suddenly tired of the game, of standing here in a battle of wits with a man he couldn’t stand, Neal snapped: “What do you want?”

Keller shrugged. “I wanna play the game.”

 _Is he serious? He knows about the FBI and he still wants to challenge me to a game of who’s the best forger?_ “The Franklin bottle?”

“Yeah… I wanna know who’s the best.”

 _No… no, I’m not playing this game with him… I’m not indulging him. I can’t go there; I don’t have the time or the luxury… and when I get Kate free of Fowler, she’ll tell me herself that Keller was blowing smoke to piss me off, and I’ll know she’s telling the truth… she’ll have to be… she wouldn’t do that to me…_ “You already submitted your bottle to the auction,” Neal said, trying to gracefully step away from the challenge. “Guess you won.” Stepping back and off the support beam, Neal turned to leave before temptation got the better of him.

“You never could follow through, Caffrey,” Keller called after him. “That’s why Kate went looking for something else.” Neal stilled, and Keller knew he had Neal’s attention again. Kate had always been Neal’s weak spot. When Neal turned, Keller tossed the bottle he’d been carrying to him. “I’ll give you the first piece; now let’s play the game.” Hopping off the beam on his side of the ditch, Keller picked up a shovel and started to walk away. “You got ten days!”

For a long moment, Neal could only turn the bottle over in his hands. It was the right size and shape, covered in dirt. Temptation to take up the challenge mingled with the anger still swirling through his veins, both turning as cold as the air around him. _Peter will never go for this… and he’s absolutely going to fly off the handle when he finds out that I met with Keller… but I can’t just ignore this… and it is a perfect way to draw Keller out… to expose him for a fraud…_

Without realizing it, Neal was walking home, turning the bottle over and over in his hands. Keller’s taunts about Kate kept echoing in Neal’s mind, co-mingling with every niggling doubt that had haunted his thoughts since this entire mess had begun.

In leaving the yellow origami lily for Neal at her father’s grave, Kate was asking for Neal’s trust, asking him to let her handle this. Which meant that she didn’t trust him to handle it for her. Kate hadn’t trusted him since he’d gotten caught by Peter, since he’d gone to trial and prison. And Neal didn’t trust her; he’d never really trusted her, if he was honest with himself. It was the reality of the world they lived in, not to trust even those closest to you.

Keller’s taunt had reminded him of that rather brutally tonight… and that lack of trust was why his insinuation that Kate had slept with him while Neal was in prison rang so true. It had to be the reason; just the seeds of doubt that were planted because of their enforced separation of five long years. It couldn’t be… just couldn’t be because…

The bottle was set carefully on the table in his suite, his clothes dropped from his body in a trail leading to the bathroom. A lavender aromatherapy shower tab dissolved at his feet as Neal tried to relax under the warm spray, tried to get a grip on his own mind. Keller had to be lying. Had to be trying to goad him and using his love for Kate as a vulnerable point. Wasn’t Fowler doing the same to get the music box? It made sense; it was certainly plausible. It was just a trick; only words. There was no proof behind them.

Kate’s voice that day at Grand Central came back to haunt Neal, and with it the terrible certainty that had overwhelmed him as she’d begged him to tell her where everything was hidden that if he did… if he told her what she was pleading with him to know… he would never see her again. Neal had known, in that moment, the extent of his lack of trust in Kate. If he had told Kate where his cache was, she would have vanished, and everything he’d worked to acquire in his life would have been gone with her. Everything… including his dreams for a home and children and something more…

The shower snapped off and Neal was barely dry before he was wrapped in his bathrobe and removing the chain holding his ring from the hook on the wall. Peter’s ring, his talisman. Proof that there was someone in his life he could trust… even when it looked like he couldn’t.

It was that trust, the love it inspired, the safety it signified, that made all the difference in the end.

_I will play the game… I’ll beat Keller, and I’ll beat Fowler, and I’ll free Kate… and then I’ll set Kate free for real. She can be with Keller or whoever else she wants… can live the life she chooses… and I’ll stay here with Peter, and find a way to be happy, because Peter will never betray me. Peter will never hurt me. And even if he doesn’t love me, Peter will never, ever let me fall._

Pulling on clean boxers and pajamas, Neal put his ring in the box he’d carved for it and placed it on the nightstand before curling under the blankets and, imaging Peter’s arms around him, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.


	3. Bottlenecked Redux – Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimer and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

The next morning found Neal driven, determination pulsing through his veins with each heartbeat. If Keller wanted him to play the game, then he was playing to win… and winning meant seeing Keller behind bars. He met Moz for an early breakfast, needing to get his old friend started on the process as soon as possible, and presented him with the bottle that Keller had tossed him as they left the restaurant.

“What is this?” Moz asked, turning the bottle over in his hands much as Neal had the previous night.

“A challenge,” Neal replied. His strides were long and fast, forcing Moz to nearly run to keep up, but Neal couldn’t seem to stop himself from doing it. He was behind, and he only had ten days to do the impossible.

“Okay: where’d you get it?”

“Keller. He wants a face off.” Neal saw Moz roll his eyes and tried not to react. “Gave me the first piece to forge my own Franklin bottle.”

“Awfully sporting of him,” Moz mused. _And not like Keller, either… something not right here, and Neal’s so mad right now he’s blind to it._

“Well, not exactly. Gave himself a bit head start.” _If I know Keller, his bottle is already done, or close to it… and who knows exactly what else he’s got up his sleeve on this one…_

Hearing the edge in Neal’s voice, Moz decided it was time to open the bag and let the screaming cat out. “Why do I get the feeling this isn’t about the bottle?”

Neal stopped dead in his tracks, knowing where this was headed. Moz had known them both, had watched Keller and he competing for Kate’s affections like schoolyard rivals, and Moz had never exactly made it a secret that he didn’t trust Kate right now, either. Neal didn’t need the speech. “Moz…”

“It’s about Kate.” Moz heard the warning in Neal’s tone and ignored it. There were times when Neal needed to hear someone else say the words out loud, especially when he was ignoring the writing on the wall. “It always was between you and Keller… like he ever had a chance.”

_I **really** don’t need to hear Moz start waxing on about my unstoppable charm and how I could have anyone I want… because the woman I love is someone I can’t trust and the man I love doesn’t love me back… and is married besides…_ “Doesn’t matter what it was about!” Neal snapped. “Keller killed a man.”

“Oh, sure, sure: _now_ , you’re the noble warrior.” Moz’s tone was purposely mocking, trying to make Neal listen to how he sounded. It was ridiculous for Neal to protest that this was purely about Keller killing someone, not when Keller had pursued Kate even after she and Neal had hooked up… Neal gave him a disgusted look and started down the street again, and Moz abandoned the topic for the moment. “Okay: what’s the plan?”

“I’m gonna beat him,” Neal replied, his voice dark and dangerous. “He gave me the bottle; now we need to fill it, cork it, seal it and label it.” Turning, Neal looked down at his oldest friend. “You like scavenger hunts?”

Moz grinned. “I’ve been known to uncover an Easter egg or two in my time,” he replied with mock-modesty. “What’s on the list?”

“Need eighteenth century cork, wax and parchment.” Neal’s mind was clicking through the checklist now; he’d thought about the techniques he would employ if he was going to forge the bottle for years, and now he was getting the chance. “Gonna need to match the label perfectly, so we’ll need ink and brushes, too… vacuum pumps to keep down the oxygen content in the wine, and something to fill the bottle with, of course.”

“We gonna try to fill it with something period?” Moz asked eagerly.

Neal’s answering grin was wolfish. “Anything pre-World War II you can find, Moz. If we’ve got even the slightest chance of really pulling this off without an actual tasting, we’ll need it.”

“You’re going to go for it, aren’t you?” Moz’s eyes were lit with the prospect. “You’re going to try and beat the cesium test?”

“It’s worth a shot, Moz.” Neal felt the surge return again, the thrill of the game. “It’s worth a shot.”

* * *

Neal was still riding the high when he walked into Peter’s office. He was far earlier than the rest of the team, but Peter was there, and that was all that mattered. Sitting down, Neal took a deep breath and tried to relax. He was keyed up and nervous about Peter’s reaction besides, but he couldn’t just blurt this out. “Peter… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Peter’s eyebrow went up, his expression instantly suspicious. “What?”

“Last night, when you called…” Neal drew another breath and started again. “At Bin 903, there was a message waiting for me. Keller’s been contacting me for weeks, sending chess moves on postcards to June’s. He left one of the same postcards for me in a book in the wine cellar at Bin 903, telling me to meet him on Water Street at eight last night. When you called, I was out walking, waiting for him.”

Russet eyes were sparking dangerously, and a muscle ticked in Peter’s jaw. “Did he show?”

Steeling himself, Neal answered with the truth. “Yes, he did. We talked for a few minutes, and then he left. He knew about my radius, knew I was on an anklet, and he stayed far enough away that I couldn’t get to him without crossing the boundary. When he left, I went home.”

“You saw Keller?” Peter repeated, just to be sure he had this right.

_He’s mad… I know he is… but I had to do it… and I couldn’t risk him getting hurt._ “I did.”

“Damn it, Neal!” Peter tried not to yell, tried to keep a lid on his temper. _No matter how many times I tell him, it’s like I’m wasting my breath; he keeps taking risks and flying without a net and it’s gonna get him killed one of these days._ “I coulda done this right. I could’ve taken him down-”

“On what exactly?” Neal countered sharply. _I should have told Peter I was meeting Keller and I know it, but I won’t be dressed down like a rookie agent who screwed up an investigation._ “He’s completely clean. It’s how he works.”

_He’s right… and I know it… but I’ve got to get through to him one way or another._ “Doesn’t take away the fact that you should have cleared it with me first.”

“You’re right,” Neal conceded, knowing it for the truth and willing to give Peter that much. They’d discussed this very issue at length over the last few weeks, including between dizzying sexual highs at the Saito hotel. Peter had insisted, over and over, that he was trying to protect Neal and that he couldn’t do it if Neal shut him out. It wasn’t easy for Neal to accept that, to let Peter be there for him when Neal had taken so many risks for so long on his own, but it was a reality that he needed to get his head around. “I should’ve.”

The admission rocked Peter to the core. It was unusual for Neal to admit that he was wrong, especially when it came to flying without a net. _Maybe he’s starting to come around…_ “You should’ve,” Peter echoed, accepting the words as an apology and letting the subject drop. Progress was progress, after all. Instead, he opened the case file and handed it to Neal. “Weatherby’s received Keller’s bottle this morning.”

Neal’s eyes raked over the small picture on the print-out. From a cursory standpoint, it looked perfect. “Wow… it’s good,” he admitted softly. _There is a reason, after all, why Keller and I were able to compete with each other…_

“Yeah… it’s also our only piece of evidence linking Keller to Campos’ murder, and it’s locked in a vault.” Peter’s voice held a trace of bitterness, as if he couldn’t stomach the fact that Keller had covered his tracks so well. “Might as well be at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, considering how circumstantial all of this is.”

Setting the file aside, Neal decided to lay out the plan that had been coalescing in his head since he’d woken. “I’m assuming a take-out menu won’t fly this time?”

“No,” Peter agreed. “We’d need concrete proof that Keller was behind the theft of the car that was used to run Campos down before we could get a real warrant to lay a finger on that bottle.”

“Unless we can convince them it’s a fake.” Neal leaned closer, excitement putting a gleam in his eyes and a flush in his cheeks. This was different than forging the Haustenburg, where Peter hadn’t known until it was done, or faking Powell’s kidney failure symptoms, which had been a plan they’d developed on the fly to force Powell’s hand. This was Neal getting to do something he’d always planned to do, something he’d dreamed of doing his entire criminal career, and Peter not only letting him do it and knowing about it, but helping him do it as well. About Peter seeing a part of Neal that Neal had never let him see before…

Peter was momentarily bowled over by the Neal’s obvious zeal… his sweet enthusiasm… _God, he’s beautiful… I will never stop being amazed at how beautiful he is… but where is he going with this?_ “That Cadigan guy won’t stop the auction just because we claim it’s a fake, and we need proof that it is.”

“We can submit a Franklin bottle of our own.” The chance to show Peter his best work yet was almost working like an aphrodisiac, making Neal’s eyes bright and keen… he wanted to slide his hands over Peter’s body while they planned how it would go, brush kisses over Peter’s skin between words… seduce Peter into saying yes and reward him by slowly sinking his hips down over the hard heat he craved… “There’s only one bottle in existence, right? If I turn in a fake that’s just as good as Keller’s, they’ll have to test them both.”

“What kind of tests?” Peter asked, somehow managing to pull some form of concentration together… Neal’s eyes were so bright… like when Neal was aroused and wanted to play for hours…

“Standard stuff: carbon-date the cork, run a molecular test on the wax, spectroscopic refraction on the glass.”

“Stuff that they got from the museum heist.” _Now I understand why Neal had the hunch about Keller just from the robbery… he’d have taken the same items if he was going to make a Franklin bottle…_

Neal nodded, eagerly. “Right: his bottle will pass those and so will mine. That’ll force the auction house to run a cesium test. They don’t like to run ‘em because they’re so expensive, but it’s a way to determine the age of the wine in the bottle without opening it.”

“Why cesium?”

“Cesium-137 doesn’t exist in nature,” Neal explained quickly. “After they detonated the first atomic bomb, it spread around the world. Anything that was bottled before 1945-”

“Like the real Franklin bottle,” Peter interjected, catching up just as quickly.

“Right… is cesium free.” Neal was grinning; couldn’t seem to help it. Peter was keeping up with him; it always fascinated and exhilarated Neal that Peter could so easily keep up with him. “Keller’s bottle has it, it’s a fake.”

_Damn… he might just have something here… and I can see why Neal’s so excited about this. It’s the ultimate challenge for him: to do the impossible, beat the unbeatable._ “Why can’t I just get some hundred-year-old wine and fill it up?”

_Quick as always, Peter…_ “There’s the rub.” Neal’s grin got, if possible, even more boyish. “They’d know you just added it because the oxygen content would be too high. _That’s_ why it can’t be forged.” _At least, it would be if you weren’t using vacuum tanks for the transfer…_

“And you think you can beat this cesium test?” Peter asked carefully. He knew the look in Neal’s eyes. _He’s got a plan somewhere in his head… he’s always wanted to do this and he’s worked out some kind of maneuver around it…_

“No!” Neal replied quickly, deciding it would be better not to tell Peter about that aspect of the plan. If Moz couldn’t get enough pre-1945 wine to fill the bottle, it wouldn’t matter; the result of the plan would be the same. And if he could, Neal wouldn’t give up the startled expression that would be on Peter’s face for anything in the world. “Nobody can; it’s impossible… that’s the beauty of it.”

Peter’s smile turned lazy, admiring the simple beauty of the plan himself. “You force the test, you both fail: it proves that Keller’s bottle’s a counterfeit. We got him on fraud.”

“It’s not murder,” Neal conceded. “But it’s a start.”

A broad grin matching Neal’s own tugged across Peter’s mouth. “How’re you gonna put the bottle together?”

“Already got a man on it,” Neal replied smoothly. “We should have all of the materials by tonight, and the next eight days should be more than enough time to set everything up.”

Shaking his head, Peter was amazed he’d let himself be talked into this scheme… but it did seem like the best way to expose Keller for what he was, and the investigation of the fraud would undoubtedly turn up the evidence they would need to tie Keller to Campos’ murder. “Gotta say, sweetheart… it’s just crazy enough to work. You need me to cut you loose so you can get working on this with Haversham?”

Neal chuckled. “Unless you’re in a hurry to get rid of me, no. Moz can handle the acquisition of the items we need on his own.”

Those russet eyes turned warm, gentle, the grin melting into a far more tender smile. “Never think I want to be rid of you, sweetheart. If you’ve got the time, I could use your help running down the Russian mobsters that Keller was dealing with; see if any of them have or are headed across the pond.”

_When he looks at me like that… I swear I’d give him whatever he wants…_ “I’m all yours, Peter.”

* * *

As it happened, Neal’s confidence in Moz was well-founded. The only items Moz couldn’t get his hands on to complete their bottle were enough pre-war wine to fill it and appropriately dated wax to seal it.

Neal was disappointed about the wine, but, being honest with himself, he could live without it. If it had been the real competition he’d always envisioned with Keller, Neal would’ve gone to the ends of the Earth to find enough wine in time, or simply stolen the contemporaries of the Franklin bottle that he’d discovered at Bin 903. Nothing would have stopped him from playing every angle possible to try and beat the cesium test and forge the unforgeable. But beating Keller this time was about exposing him for a fraud and giving Peter enough grounds to arrest him. Neal could do that without cesium-free wine, and so he let go of the pipe-dream.

The wax, however, was a sticking point that couldn’t be avoided. Forcing the cesium test relied entirely on his bottle passing all other tests, and they would need shavings from the seals on the Chateau de Munn bottles at Bin 903 to pull this off. Neal needed back inside Bin 903, and needed Peter to play along.

Saturday evening brought his second dinner with the Burkes that week, much to Elizabeth’s delight. Obeying her rules to the letter was one thing; Neal knew she was happiest when he came more often, because he wanted to, not because Elizabeth required it of him in order to maintain his relationship with Peter. He’d brought an extra bottle of the wine Moz had acquired, greeting Peter with a warm kiss. “If I promise to share a beer with you later, and not complain, can I convince you to try this with dinner?”

Peter smiled at him, running a gentle hand through his hair. “Maybe… or you could just kiss me again.”

Warmth rushed through Neal as he leaned in, brushing a soft, tasting kiss over Peter’s lips again. It amazed him that Elizabeth would allow him this at any time, let alone under her own roof. Peter kissed him back, lingering and not-quite-possessive, and Neal vaguely wondered exactly how much El would let happen between he and Peter here…

The spell broke when sigh of contentment reached Neal’s ears. Neal pulled back out of the kiss, turning to look at Elizabeth and trying not to feel guilty. This was her husband he was kissing, after all. El just smiled at him, stepped over and brushed a kiss of welcome to his cheek as she took the wine. “This is going to be perfect with dinner. I’ll open it to breathe.” With a twinkle in her eyes, she turned and walked back into the kitchen.

A warm chuckle rolled in Peter’s throat as he slid an arm around Neal’s waist. “That’s a beautiful blush you’re sporting, sweetheart.”

Neal nestled into Peter for a moment, relaxing. He was free to be physically affectionate with Peter here; Elizabeth encouraged it, smiling her gentle, accepting, welcoming smile whenever she saw it. _So why does it make me blush when she catches us, like we’re a pair of teenagers that can’t keep our hands off each other and just got caught by our best friend? Probably because that’s exactly how Peter and I are around each other…_

As usual, dinner was filled with light banter, laughter and stories of the past. By mutual unspoken agreement, Neal’s evenings with the Burkes never centered on the cases he and Peter were currently working. Peter told stories about his FBI career before marrying Elizabeth, Elizabeth told embarrassing stories about Peter, and Neal regaled them with stories of criminal exploits that he might or might not have committed. Peter was never sure, and Neal’s twinkling eyes said quite impishly that he’d never tell.

Neal felt more peace when he sat half-curled on the couch, Peter between he and Elizabeth, drinking wine and talking about the past, than he had at any other place or in any other time in his life. They were family; they made him feel like he belonged. Like he might be loved.

Finally, Elizabeth pleaded a need for sleep. The kiss she brushed over Peter’s lips, warm and gentle and familiar as a favorite pair of pajamas, stirred no jealousy in Neal for Peter’s affection. Neal surprised himself as he realized that what he was jealous of was the surety in Elizabeth’s kiss. There was no doubt in her mind that Peter loved her, and Neal wanted that certainty. Wanted to know that Peter loved him, and never have cause to wonder.

Needing to look away from their tender good night, Neal’s eyes cast around the room and fell on Satchmo, who was standing near the back door. “Looks like Satch needs out one more time before bed,” Neal commented softly. “I’ll take him.”

There was a moment of surprise on Peter’s face, but El seemed to know what Neal was thinking. “Thanks, Neal. Just let him in the yard; we never take him far this late.” When Neal pulled on his jacket and left with Satch, almost grateful for the escape, Elizabeth sighed. “I wish you’d tell him,” she groused softly. “He needs to hear it from you, Peter.”

Peter shook his head. “El, I really think you’re reading more into this than is there… at least on Neal’s end.” He stood and walked upstairs with her, changing into a LeMoyne tee shirt and sweat pants.

“You’ve said as much before,” El replied archly. “And you were wrong then, too. Neal won’t tell you how he feels until you ‘fess up, Peter. What is it you’re always saying? ‘Cowboy up’? Well, cowboy up and tell him how you feel… before it’s too late.”

“No, El.” Peter kissed her again, his voice firm. “Not until I’m as sure as you are. Get some sleep; I’ll be up soon.” Ignoring her long-suffering sigh, Peter walked back downstairs and opened the fireplace, banking the fire for the night. They’d left the harsh artificial lights low after dessert, building a fire in the fireplace to both warm the house and cast a bit of ambiance with the soft light. Peter had loved the way the gentle flicker of the flames danced across the porcelain faces of both of his lovers, often losing the thread of their stories in his fascination. _I’m in love with two of the most beautiful people in the world… and I know that at least one of them loves me back. I’m not sure whether that makes me lucky, but it feels good…_

When Neal came back in, Peter had set a pair of microbrewed beers on the dining room table and was waiting for him. Shooing Satchmo upstairs, he waited until Neal had returned from putting Satchmo’s lead back in the kitchen and washing his hands before drawing Neal into his arms for another gentle kiss. “You’ve had something to ask me all night,” Peter said softly. “I knew it the minute you talked about sharing a beer with me; that had nothing to do with the wine. What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

Drawing in a deep breath, savoring the soft scent of Peter’s aftershave and clean cotton shirt and that musky something that was all Peter’s own, Neal nodded slowly. “I’ve got a favor to ask… and you’re not going to want to say yes.”

Peter let out a small groan as Neal stepped out of his arms and around the dining room table to open his beer. “Okay… how bad is it? Or, more specifically, how illegal?”

“It’s not illegal!” Neal defended as he sat, not bothering to remove his jacket. It was late, and only getting later, and he needed to catch a cab back to June’s as soon as he convinced Peter to say yes. “Not technically, anyway.” Peter’s eyes narrowed and Neal took a small sip of the beer. It was a microbrew, all right; Neal was quietly warmed by that fact. It would probably take at least a decade and an act of God to make Peter Burke give up beer entirely, but the concession to Neal’s sensibilities was rather nice all the same. “I need you to pretend to be the wealthy client that I told Grace about at a wine tasting on Monday.”

_There’s got to be more to this…_ “Why?”

Neal took another sip for courage. Peter wasn’t going to like this. “Because we need eighteenth-century beeswax for the seal on the bottle, and there are several bottles of post-French Revolution Chateau de Munn at Bin 903. You pretend to be my client, help me get past the security on the wine storage room and I get what we need-”

“No!” Peter sat up straighter, having been leaning back and resting his head against his hand on the back of the chair. _He is not seriously asking me to help him steal something… and beeswax? Seriously?_

_I knew he’d say no… Peter can be so predictable sometimes…_ “That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?” Neal asked, hoping that the question might tease Peter out of the annoyed mood he was suddenly in.

It didn’t work. “It’s a classic: nope, never, forget about it,” Peter snapped. “What makes you think I would break into anyplace with you and steal anything?”

_Because you’d make an amazing thief, a better con than me, and together we’d be unstoppable… and somehow, I know you wouldn’t take any of that as a compliment._ “You’re not breaking in,” Neal assured him quickly. “You’ll be shown around. And we’re not stealing anything…” Peter shot Neal an incredulous look and Neal abandoned that tactic. “Of value,” he amended quickly. “All I need are some wax shavings. It’s like taking a lock of hair from the floor of a barber shop.”

_I can’t believe he’s actually trying to talk me into this… and what’s worse is that I know he will. He always does, somehow…_ “Theft is theft,” Peter insisted, his words feeling hollow. This was Neal; in his heart, Peter already knew he was going to give in. There wasn’t much, in the end, that Peter wouldn’t do for this beautiful man.

“I’m a CI,” Neal retorted, deciding to try a different tactic. “Not an agent: I don’t have the same restrictions. We can call this one a gray area.”

_Nice try, sweetheart. That logic I can turn down flat._ “Nada.”

“Come on!” Neal needed Peter to agree, couldn’t explain how much he was looking forward to working with Peter like this… it was the closest he would ever get to teaming up with Peter for a real con… “You can get all dressed up,” he wheedled, letting his voice drop into that tempting, seductive timbre that always worked so well. “Hobnob with pretty people… drink a fine glass of port…”

If at all possible, Peter’s expression grew more disbelieving, and he was looking at Neal like Neal had lost his mind. “From everything you know about me, what makes you think I’d enjoy any of what you just said?”

_Okay… bad plan… time to appeal to that innate sense of justice… his one real weakness…_ “Because this is about catching a killer.” Neal dropped all pretenses and cajoling, gazing into Peter’s eyes with solemn intent. “A wax shaving for a murderer.”

The softly spoken words struck home, and Peter knew he was done for. Neal knew every weak spot he had, and could play him like a Stradivarius. _At least he tried to convince me every other way he could think of before going straight for the one argument I can’t fight._ “This won’t affect the value of anything in Grace’s collection?” Peter asked, needing to be sure.

“Nope!” Neal answered quickly. To be honest, he doubted what he would take would even be noticeable. “No, nada.”

_Damn it… here we go again._ “You know, for the record: I hate port,” Peter groused after heaving a deep, resigned sigh. “It’s syrupy.”

“There will be other options,” Neal assured him, taking another drink. Peter tipped his bottle back and took a long draw himself, giving in with barely-veiled ill-grace. “It won’t be so bad, Peter; it definitely won’t be like the party at Avery’s… the wine vault at Bin 903’s not designed to suck the air out of your lungs on a moment’s notice.”

That had Peter draining his beer before letting out a sardonic chuckle. “Yeah… there’s that.” After a moment, his fingers toying with the empty bottle, Peter finally confessed softly: “I thought for sure I was going to lose you.”

Neal set his unfinished beer aside and stood, walking around to stand in front of Peter’s chair. When Peter looked up, Neal captured that serious, handsome, gentle face in his hands, bent and kissed Peter. Peter’s hands surged up, fisting on the edges of Neal’s jacket, and his mouth opened eagerly beneath Neal’s, letting Neal explore and taste and tease until they were both moaning into each other’s mouths.

When Neal finally broke the kiss, Peter felt dazed, staring up into Neal’s eyes: violet-azure fire in the dim light. “You didn’t, Peter… and don’t think I don’t know that Avery could have shot you if Jones hadn’t gotten there in time. I read the reports. You opened the door… saved my life… and Avery could have killed you before you’d have gotten off a shot.”

Standing up into Neal’s arms, Peter slid his hands inside Neal’s jacket and around Neal’s waist, pulling him close. “And it would have been worth it… to save you.” Neal’s eyes dilated, surprise and something like pain and something else that Peter couldn’t put a name to reflecting in their depths. Wanting to erase that aching expression, Peter leaned down and kissed Neal again, sealing their mouths and letting Neal anchor to him, pressing as tightly as he could… needing to be safe…

This time, the kiss only broke for lack of air, and Neal’s head tipped forward of its own volition to rest against Peter’s shoulder. _I don’t deserve him… and he deserves better than to be pulled in two directions by a wonderful wife and a needy mistress…_

“You’re not going back to June’s at this hour,” Peter murmured against his hair, his tone implacable. “You should stay; get some sleep.”

“Peter…” Neal wanted, deep in his heart, to say yes. But that meant sleeping in the guest room without Peter… with Peter down the hall nestled in with Elizabeth… and Neal wasn’t sure he could bear that. He was a selfish creature at heart, wanting Peter all to himself when Peter was near. “I shouldn’t…”

“You can, and it’s okay.” Peter curled him closer, resting his cheek against Neal’s hair. “I promise El won’t mind at all. She worries about you, too.”

Warmth coiled through Neal’s limbs, his body willing him to agree. His arms were around Peter’s neck and his head was resting in the curve of Peter’s throat and they were alone on the first floor of the dimly-lit house. Peter was safe… warm and comforting and safe, and his house felt the same… it had been a refuge for Neal, not so long ago; even in a moment when Peter hadn’t felt safe, this house had… and El was so generous with her home, her husband, her heart…

Could he stay? Not just tonight, but always? Would it be so hard to just say yes, to give up his suite at June’s and stay here and share this home? Share Peter every day, and not just when Peter could come to him?

Would Elizabeth really give Neal everything he wanted, if he was brave enough to ask for it?

Neal had spent a lifetime taking risks, but this was one tightrope he was terrified of walking. All of Peter’s assurance couldn’t change the fact that if he fell this time, no one would be there to catch him, and the fall would break him utterly, permanently. If he tried and failed, it would destroy him.

“I’ll stay,” Neal agreed finally. “But you’re sleeping with El.”

“Sweetheart-”

“I don’t care what you think your wife is or isn’t okay with, Peter.” Neal drew his head back, gazing up at Peter with an implacable expression of his own. “Unless I hear her say she’s okay with it, I’m not tempting her forbearance in her own house. And you’re not waking her up to get her permission, either.” _I’m not risking what we have… I can’t… I need him too much… far too much for my own good…_

Seeing that Neal wouldn’t be moved, Peter sighed. “All right, sweetheart. You know where it is; I’m going to lock up down here and then I’ll be right up to lend you some pajamas.”

A quick kiss, and Neal shed his jacket as he stepped from Peter’s arms. He hung it on the coat hook in the mud room as Peter was putting out the lights, walking up the stairs to the sound of Peter setting the alarm for the night. And then Peter was right behind him, brushing gentle hands up Neal’s back and along Neal’s shoulders as Peter passed him and stepped into the master bedroom. There was a quiet murmur, and then Peter was back in the hall, handing Neal pajama pants and a tee shirt that were at least a size too big. “They’ll be a little big,” Peter apologized, “but at least they’re clean.”

“It’s okay, Peter.” Neal leaned up, kissing him softly on the lips. “Sleep well.”

“You, too, sweetheart.” Stepping into the master bedroom as Neal turned into the guest room, Peter closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. Words battling for voice echoed inside Peter’s head, and two finally broke free of their bindings to whisper into the darkened room, far from the ears of the one they were intended for. “Love you.”


	4. Bottlenecked Redux – Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimer and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

Sunday morning came late for Neal, and he woke to the lazy press of a kiss to his lips, smiling into it without opening his eyes. He knew Peter’s touch and scent even in his dreams. “Morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart.” Peter stroked a hand through Neal’s hair as Neal’s eyes finally opened. He loved to see Neal this way: rumpled from sleep, pupils wide and eyes luminous in the morning light. “Sleep well?”

Nodding sleepily, Neal shifted to sit up and stretched, a slow, feline move that let Peter appreciate every sinew. Sleeping in Peter’s pajamas had felt almost like being wrapped in Peter’s arms, the scent of Peter that clung to the clothes even after being laundered penetrating his subconscious, keeping the nightmares at bay. “What time is it?”

“Almost nine; El and I figured we’d let you sleep in.” Peter brushed light fingers down Neal’s arm, enjoying Neal’s tiny shiver of desire in response. “She’s walking Satch.”

The invitation wasn’t precisely subtle, but Neal wasn’t biting. He’d told Peter last night that he wasn’t going to tempt El’s forbearance in her own house, and it was just as true this morning. “Then I can get a shower before she gets back. Is there coffee?”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up in frank curiosity. “Neal… why are you pushing me away? What are you afraid of?”

_Of loving you too much… needing more than I can have… of El not letting you catch me when I fall._ “I’m not pushing you away, Peter,” Neal protested quietly. “I’m just not pushing the boundaries of what Elizabeth will accept in her own house… and I’m asking you to respect that.”

Words echoing their recent upset, while El had been out of town and Neal had finally drawn his own line in the sand. Peter got the message loud and clear. “Okay, sweetheart… I understand.” Kissing Neal almost chastely on the lips, Peter shifted off the bed to let Neal get out of it. “You can borrow my razor if you want, too.”

“Thanks, Peter.” Neal flashed a smile of gratitude for more than just a chance to shave before going back to June’s, and vanished into the shower. It wasn’t until he heard Peter’s footsteps fade down the stairwell and he was under the warm spray of water that Neal breathed a sigh of relief. “I love you,” he whispered to the man on the floor below.

* * *

The remainder of the day flew past Neal almost in a blur. He and Peter hashed out their plan to get past the security on the wine cellar vault over brunch, and Neal caught a cab back to June’s. Mozzie was there, a question on his lips, but Neal silenced it with a look and quickly changed clothes before setting to work on the bottle preparations. _I don’t need Moz asking where I was or who I was with… I really don’t need to try and explain just how insane I am, to be keeping company with the very-married FBI agent that originally threw me in prison… let alone having fallen in love with him…_

Somehow, Neal avoided the question all day, and by the time Moz left that night, he knew he wouldn’t get an answer out of Neal. Neal gave quiet thanks for that; if Moz began to suspect what was really going on… well, he had no idea how Moz would react, but he was fairly sure that Peter being a man was going to be secondary to Peter being a federal agent on Moz’s list of reasons why Neal had lost his mind.

Peter showed up at June’s early Monday morning, dressed in the best suit he could find. Neal was impressed that Peter had managed to come up with something out of his department store wardrobe that didn’t _look_ department store, and mentally guessed it had been a gift from Elizabeth. The tie, however, just wouldn’t do.

Quickly acquiring one of his own, Neal grabbed the tie Peter was wearing, used it to pull Peter in and sealed his mouth to Peter’s. Peter reacted instantly, his hands sliding around Neal’s waist, lower to each cup one firm cheek, a heartfelt groan echoing into Neal’s mouth as he molded their hips together. Thoroughly distracted, Peter didn’t even realize that Neal had undone his tie until he felt it sliding around his neck as Neal pulled it off. “Hey… what’s wrong with the tie?”

“Not fashionable enough.” Remaining flush against Peter, his expression almost dreamily content, Neal unbuttoned Peter’s collar points, flipped up the collar, and swiftly looped and knotted the slender Italian silk tie at Peter’s throat. He brushed kisses to the underside of Peter’s jaw after folding the collar back down and refastening the buttons, noting with some pleasure that Peter was wearing cologne rather than just aftershave. “You smell really nice… did El buy you that?”

“Versace,” Peter replied with a shrug. “Last Christmas. I don’t wear it much, except on special occasions… but El said if I embarrassed you today, I was sleeping on the couch for a month… so I figured I’d better use it.”

The very thought of Elizabeth championing Neal as if he and Peter were going on a date rather than an undercover operation had Neal laughing out loud in delight. “Have I mentioned lately that I really like your wife, Peter?”

One hand glided up the length of Neal’s back, brushing through the fine hair at his nape before slipping around to cup Neal’s jaw, a thumb smoothing over his lower lip. “Yes,” Peter said, making no effort to keep the tenderness from his voice. “As a matter of fact, you have.”

For a moment, Neal got lost in the smoldering embers of Peter’s eyes… it was so easy to sink into them… to let himself just be in Peter’s gaze… _Pull it together, Caffrey… we’ve got things to do that don’t involve locking the doors and getting naked with Peter for the next several hours…_ Blinking sharply, Neal managed to pull himself back to the surface and take a deep, tremulous breath. “Okay… I made a list of the wines that Grace will be showcasing today… you’ll need to know something about all of them, just in case. No telling when the opportunity will come up to ask Grace for a tour of the cellar, or how long you’ll be on your own upstairs while I’m getting the shavings.”

“I’ve researched undercover roles before, Neal.” Peter let a smirk tug at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t have to explain why I’ll know more about wine after today than I’ve learned in my entire adult life.”

Neal chuckled. “As long as you understand that it’s for your own good, Peter.” He gestured at the couch, where the table had a few sheaves of notes spread out. “Let’s get to work; the tasting’s at noon.”

* * *

Walking into Bin 903, Neal was nervous, though he’d long ago learned to conceal that from potential marks. Peter had committed everything Neal had prepared for him to memory, but Neal knew this wasn’t Peter’s usual scene and a part of him wanted more time to prep Peter for his role. Especially since Peter kept harping about the tie.

“I still say this tie’s ridiculous,” Peter said for the fifth time since they’d left June’s.

“It’s Italian,” Neal responded, wishing Peter could understand the subtleties of men’s couture. “And it looks good.”

Peter’s eyes rolled. _As if nothing Italian can be ridiculous… come on, sweetheart…_ “Well, I feel like I should be flossing my teeth with it, not wearing it around my neck.”

It was exactly this kind of grumbling that made Neal nervous. Peter’s sensibilities just didn’t mesh well with this sphere… and somewhere, Neal resented that everything he’d aspired to fit in with for his entire life fell into Peter’s ‘ridiculous’ category. “The sooner we can get Grace to show us the cellar, the sooner you can get back to your favorite pair of sweatpants.” A note of surprised hurt flashed through Peter’s eyes at Neal’s heavy disapproval, and Neal forced himself to back off. Now wasn’t the time to try and change Peter. “I know wine isn’t your thing…”

“It’s a tasting, Neal,” Peter replied dryly. “I nose a bottle, take a sip and say something pretentious, like: ‘rich with nice body’.”

_And he wonders why I’m nervous… with his attitude, it’ll take a miracle to pull this off._ Unfortunately, there was no more time to talk, no matter what Neal might want to say. Grace had already spotted them, and was making her way over to the alcove where they stood. “Speaking of…”

“You made it.” Reserved pleasure, perfectly businesslike, echoed in Grace’s voice as she approached and extended a hand to Peter. “You must be Mr. Leed.”

“Please,” Peter replied, taking her hand and offering a polite smile. “Call me Carlton.”

“Grace Quinn.” The smile Grace wore was perfect for her role: light, not quite flirtatious, calculated warmth. Neal once again got the unshakable sense that she knew precisely who they were and why they were here. “I hear you’re a man of discriminating taste; I hope we find something to your liking today.” When Peter responded with nothing but a light chuckle, Grace turned to lead them over to the tables where the hors d’oeuvres and wine were being served. “Love your tie.”

Even though Neal _knew_ it was part of the game, he couldn’t help crowing just a little bit. “She loves the tie,” he echoed before falling into step behind her. _See, Peter? It’s not ridiculous; it’s couture… it’s beauty… and it’s not just for people like me._

A sommelier had already seen Grace escorting two clients to his table, and had two tasting glasses poured by the time she reached it. Having attended no few of Elizabeth’s events when she required an escort, Peter had an appreciation for the subtle fluidity of good service, even if he still didn’t have a clue why the tie was so important or impressive. “We’ll be starting with a 1985 Château Pétrus Pomerol,” Grace advised brightly, handing Peter and Neal a glass.

“Great year,” Neal commented, hoping to give Peter a clue and hold Grace’s attention. “You’re not holding back.”

The ploy didn’t work; Grace’s eyes were locked on the ‘client’, on Peter, watching his reactions like a hawk. Neal couldn’t shake the sudden sense of foreboding that closed in around them. If Keller was feeding her intel about them… if he’d told her that Neal might bring an FBI agent to this tasting as his ‘client’ and she’d been instructed to gather information… “What do you think?” she prompted softly as they each took a sip.

That sense of warning pushed Neal to leap in, more out of a need to keep Peter from being exposed to this woman, and therefore to Keller, than to try and cue Peter about what to say. “I’d say it’s woodsy with a medium body and a hint of-”

“The lady asked what I thought,” Peter cut in. His tone was imperious, and just a touch impatient as well: perfect for his role. _Time to give **you** a show, sweetheart… this isn’t my first dance._ Ignoring the startled look from Neal and lifting the glass to his nose, Peter took another careful evaluation of the aroma. “The use of wood is evident in its broadness of flavors… great persistence in the mouth. It opens up well in the glass.”

“I would agree,” Grace replied, mild surprise evident in her tone. Her eyes were focused on Peter with curiosity now, as if confronted with something unexpected.

Neal was somewhere in the neighborhood of flabbergasted, and it was a struggle not to let it show on his face. Surprise definitely registered, and Neal hoped that Grace’s focus on Peter shielded it from her gaze. _Just when I thought I knew all of the ways this man could turn me on, he goes and says something like that… something so completely unexpected and in that voice that makes me want to go down on my knees for him… we need to get this done and get out of here. I need this man to tear all my clothes off._

Turning just once to look at Neal, Peter felt a rush of heat in his veins at Neal’s expression. Not only had he surprised Neal again, which was always fun, but he could see the widening of Neal’s pupils in those bright azure eyes: a sure sign that Neal was more than a little aroused. _Get this over with fast… fast enough to get him back to June’s for a while before I have to be in the office…_ “I understand you have a more… substantial private collection.”

His response to Neal’s arousal carried into his tone, and Grace responded to the inflections, her own eyes brightening. “Would you care to see the vault?”

Peter nodded with a smile, shooting an almost smug glance at Neal as she led him towards the stairs. _You’re not the only one who can fit in here, sweetheart… I just see these people for what they are, and I don’t want to be like them the way you seem to._

As they descended, Peter leaving his glass with a server at the top of the stairs, Grace noticed that Neal hadn’t joined them. “Friend not coming?” she asked mildly as she punched in the code and pressed her thumb to the scan plate.

“No,” Peter replied casually. “I don’t need a baby-sitter.” As the lock released, Peter reached for the door handle. “Please… allow me.”

“And you’re a gentleman, too.” Grace was more than pleasantly surprised by ‘Carlton’, stepping past him as he opened the door. “As you can see, our security system is state of the art.”

“Really?” Peter found that rather entertaining, considering the fact that she never noticed him brushing a length of duct tape over the door to prevent the latch from popping back into place. “I’ve been told that you don’t utilize security cameras in order to protect your clients’ anonymity.”

“That’s right.” Grace smiled at him over her shoulder. “Confidentiality is a top priority here; I understood from your friend that’s something you’ve been concerned with lately.”

Peter merely offered a shrug and a smile. “It’s always been a concern… it’s merely changed status on my priority list at the moment.” _Because I want to be sure Neal didn’t miss anything… if there’s any kind of security camera down here, I need to find a way to let him know… and fast…_ “No hidden feeds? Wireless little cameras like mothers are using to keep an eye on the nannies these days?”

Grace chuckled quietly. “No, nothing like that. No one comes down here without being escorted by a member of the staff and the code is changed every day; no one has private access. We have no need for cameras with those kinds of precautions. And each section is designated only by a client number, so no one could know who else has holdings here without access to our client files.”

Walking through the rows of wine racks, Peter couldn’t help wondering who really took wine this seriously. He wasn’t the ignoramus Cadigan had made him out to be, and he wasn’t as clueless as Neal thought he was, but wine was wine. It was something to be enjoyed with his wife or close friends, something to soothe his nerves after a trying day at work, but it wasn’t worth all this fuss and expense… and when it reached a point when it was worth more to own unopened than to drink, Peter started to wonder whether or not someone had lost the plot. Vintners didn’t make wine to be kept in bottles and never opened for all eternity. Just like any other person who produced food or drink, vintners made wine to be consumed, enjoyed, to accent moments of camaraderie and intimacy. Holding onto a bottle of wine for more than two centuries just for the prestige of owning it seemed to defeat that purpose on a fundamental level.

He half-listened to Grace extolling the virtues of her wine cellar as he walked, carefully and casually gauging how long it would take Neal to get in, locate the post-French Revolution de Munn, shave the amount of wax they would need and get out again. It would take a few minutes, minutes Peter would need to use watching for any sign that another client was being shown down to the vault. He paused at the shelf on the far wall, on which sat the box cradling the de Munn bottles. “This client must place your security in quite high regard,” he murmured, “to keep such rare treasures here.”

“Yes.” Grace moved to stand beside him, watching him intently. “We’ve proven ourselves trustworthy to many clients over the years, Carlton.”

Peter turned, and for just a moment, he saw the same thing that Neal had seen since his initial tour. Grace was in league with Keller, and had undoubtedly been told exactly who Neal was and what game he was playing with Keller. “I’m sure you have, Grace. There’s nothing I appreciate more than knowing that I can trust the people I do business with.”

Grace smiled, a soft, perfectly businesslike smile. “Then perhaps we can discuss housing your own holdings after the tasting is over.” Peter nodded his agreement, saying nothing, and Grace closed the lid on the de Munn box before gesturing for Peter to follow her out.

Emerging back onto the main floor, Peter gave Neal a quick glance, a pre-arranged signal that everything was in place. He saw Neal disappear down the stairs moments later, and tried to maintain his cover while tasting another of Grace’s rare vintages. It wasn’t as much fun without Neal there to be surprised, and turned on, by Peter’s actual knowledge of wine and wine-tasting, and Peter eventually found his way to an alcove near the stairs where he could watch for Neal to reappear or for anyone to escort a client down.

It was barely a minute after he’d found his position when Murphy’s Law decided to rear its head. The click of heels on the stairs had Peter glancing over the railing to see Grace escorting another client down to the vault. A glance at the crowd told him that Neal hadn’t re-emerged without his notice, and Peter felt his heart jump into his throat. Sliding around the wall quicker than he’d have thought possible with the clustering crowd, Peter tried not to look panicked as he followed Grace down. He had to distract her and her client before they could open the vault and find Neal inside, or the whole plan was wrecked and both he and Neal were likely to wind up in jail. _This is **exactly** why this was a really bad idea!_ “Ms. Quinn? I have a question about the Chateau Petrus…”

Grace and her client turned, and Peter felt his heart drop into his stomach. He knew the man standing in front of him as surely as he knew Neal. _Keller… Keller’s here… he’s been here this whole time… watching us… which means he knows Neal’s in the vault…_ Protective instincts flooded through Peter, making his muscles coil under his skin. He couldn’t let Keller into that vault with Neal, no matter what else happened. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said quietly. His eyes locked on Keller’s, refusing to look away in embarrassment as someone else might… this was a snake in the sand, deceptively lounged, able to strike without warning…

Keller seemed unruffled, returning Peter’s gaze with a dark glimmer in his eyes that sent cold chills through Peter’s veins. “Oh, please… don’t I know you?”

Willing himself to remain calm, Peter refused to even blink in the direction of the vault. Neal was still inside, hiding, waiting, and Peter wouldn’t give his position away. “I don’t think so,” he replied, his voice even. _You will, though… you’ll know exactly who I am when I put you away for murder, you sonuvabitch…_

“I guess you just have one o’ them faces.” Keller finished the wine in his glass, giving both Peter and Grace a smile that didn’t touch the darkness in his eyes. “Mind filling this up for me?” he asked Grace, leaning into her personal space as he handed her the glass.

Grace took the glass with a murmured assent and walked back up the stairs, and Keller turned back to Peter. “Now I got it,” he said, as if having just worked out a puzzle. “Yeah, I saw you earlier; you, uh… you came in with your friend.” Glancing around, Keller’s pose of exaggerated casualness set off every alarm in Peter’s head. “Where’d he get off to, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Peter replied even more quietly. It was obvious to him that Keller knew a good deal, but if there was any chance Keller thought he was just a fellow con… if Keller didn’t realize Peter was an FBI agent… then there was a chance he’d reveal something that they could use against him later… “I’m not his keeper.

“You’re not, huh?” Keller could almost laugh at the transparent attempt to throw him off… as if he hadn’t gotten his hands on every scrap of information he could about Neal’s deal with the feds or seen Peter with Neal on the street that day in Queens. “See, I think you are. And then I wonder what would happen if I asked a security guard to check the vault… right now. I mean, I’m wondering what that does to a lawman’s career when his errand boy is caught breaking into somebody’s private property.”

“And I’m having a hard time figuring out why I don’t book you for murder one… right now,” Peter snapped back, his voice low and deadly and ice cold. _No one threatens Neal… especially not to my face… **no one…**_

Keller chuckled, a mirthless little sound. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.” Peter watched the way Keller stroked one finger across his forehead, noting the personal idiosyncrasy and wondering what it indicated. It wasn’t likely to be fear. A reaction to being threatened, perhaps… or a sign of annoyance…

“How ‘bout I get Grace to lock this vault down?” Keller threatened back. All pose of casualness was gone now, and Peter felt his hackles rise in response. “What’re the cops gonna find when they look inside?”

“A cellar full of dusty, overpriced wine.” Neal’s voice echoed from within the vault, his own tone deceptively mild as he stepped through the door and moved instantly to Peter’s side. This meeting had been the very thing he’d been trying to avoid since the start of this case, and the moment Neal had realized it was Keller that Peter was tangling with outside, he’d thrown any attempt at concealment to the wind. _Back off now, Keller… you don’t want to test my patience twice…_

Almost in response to the silent demand, Keller did take a step back, another mirthless chuckle sounding in his throat. “You know what? I’m glad you brought in the FBI, Caffrey… makes it exciting, right? Be that much richer when I beat you.”

Hostility was coming off Peter in waves, magnifying Neal’s. He needed to defuse the situation before Keller pushed any more of their buttons and things escalated beyond their control. “Oh… I forgot to tell you,” Neal said to Peter in his most insouciant tone. “He’s a big fan of himself.”

_Message received, sweetheart… not here… not now…_ “I noticed that,” Peter replied, trying to force down the urge to put Keller in handcuffs and arrest him no matter how circumstantial their case was.

The slight sent Keller for blood. “By the way, I heard someone mowed down a citizen? Right in front of an FBI agent?” Flames of rage leapt in Peter’s eyes, and Neal’s went hard and cold as sapphires. Keller almost smiled at that, knowing he’d struck a deep nerve in both men. “What a shame… I mean, that’s gotta be embarrassing for the Bureau, right? Good luck with that investigation.” Reaching out, Keller patted Neal on the arm and walked past Peter up the stairs.

Every muscle in Peter’s body was vibrating with the need to grab Keller by the back of the neck, slam him into the brick wall a few times, and then consider arresting him for murder and resisting arrest. The fact that Keller had practically admitted to killing Campos paled in comparison to the blind rage that threatened when he _touched_ Neal… as if he had the right… “I spend five minutes with the guy and I wanna punch him right in the face,” he grated, fury gathering around him like a storm.

“Imagine how I feel.” Neal could feel it, in him and around him and emanating from Peter, bright as a beacon. Keller had been here… had all but threatened Peter… his insinuations about Kate were bad enough but Keller had seen Peter on the street that day… knew who Peter was…

“You’ll feel better when we take him down,” Peter replied, trying to regain some control before they had to go upstairs.

Glancing past Peter up the stairs, Neal gauged how much time they might have before another person intruded. Reaching out, Neal grabbed Peter’s tie and all but slung him into the cool brick wall. Those burning russet eyes widened a moment before Neal pressed up against him, and then those slender hands caught Peter’s face in an iron grip and Neal’s lips were slanting across his own, claiming Peter with a shattering kiss of possession. Peter responded instantly, his hands sinking up into Neal’s hair and refusing to let Neal out of the kiss, hunger flaring and igniting in the aftermath of potential violence that had hung in the air…

Neal bit into Peter’s lower lip, drawing a truncated little cry from Peter’s throat that went straight to his erection. “Home,” he growled, low and fierce. Neal needed to get Peter out of here, away from Keller… needed to claim what was his… Keller had been so close to Peter… close enough to threaten… close enough to touch…

Peter nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and he followed Neal’s long strides out of the cellar and up to the street. His eyes swept the crowd around them, watching for any sign that Keller was near… the last thing either of them needed was for Keller to stop them for another confrontation. Mercifully, Keller was engaged with other guests as they left, and barely spared a glance at their exit.

Once in the car, Neal couldn’t sit still, the fingers of his right hand unbuttoning his collar and working to loosen his tie. His left hand was tangled with Peter’s right, and Peter wouldn’t let go, needing the contact almost like a ground for the electricity that seemed to crackle in his veins…

Arriving at June’s, they snuck in through the back and up the stairs, feeling like teenagers avoiding a parent’s watchful eye. If Neal hadn’t been so caught up in his own mind, he might have laughed, but the moment the door to Neal’s suite was closed, Peter’s lips were on his, hard and demanding and exactly what Neal wanted them to be, and the barely-acknowledged urge dissolved in the searing heat that flared between them.

And then Neal was in control again, pressing Peter back towards the bedroom and practically tearing Peter’s clothes off as they went. Peter had Neal naked to the waist before Neal tumbled him back across the rumpled sheets, and Neal was stripping off the rest of Peter’s clothes before pouncing like a jaguar on the hunt.

Almost feral, Neal sank his teeth into Peter’s nipple and tugged. Peter half-lurched up into Neal, a cry tearing out of this throat, and Neal soothed the abused flesh with his tongue before wrapping his lips around it and suckling hard. Peter’s hands dug into the muscles of Neal’s back, his legs parting wider to cradle Neal’s weight against his hips and he was moaning, long and loud, letting Neal have control… he could sense, somehow, that Neal needed control…

It wasn’t long before Neal had left a trail of bright red bites down the hard planes of Peter’s ribs, the taut expanse of his stomach… dark purple suck marks that would linger for days stained the skin over Peter’s tapering hips, and Neal devoured Peter’s erection with little artistry, sucking hard and scraping teeth and listening to Peter biting back howls of approval for fear June would come and investigate. Neal didn’t care if she heard them or not. He didn’t care about anything right now except making Peter scream his name… Peter’s hands tangled in his hair and Neal reached up, slicking two fingers with saliva before sliding them beneath Peter’s hips.

Peter arched up off the bed, one leg wrapping around Neal’s slender shoulders. Neal ruthlessly dragged the edge of his teeth up the sensitive flesh, his fingers opening Peter with insistent, expert strokes. As if Peter would deny him anything. Peter relaxed, opened for Neal, stopped fighting for restraint. Neal needed this… needed Peter to be the one writhing in abandon…

Swarming… lost… it felt like something was buzzing inside Neal’s mind and he couldn’t shake free. His tongue stroked against the throbbing veins of Peter’s erection, the nails of his left hand scored long red streaks up Peter’s legs and Peter was moaning for him, arching into the deep, not quite rough strokes of Neal’s right hand and running his own hands through Neal’s thick, silken hair… Neal was _his_ to touch… not Keller’s… “Come on, Neal…” he murmured, thick and husky. “Come on, sweetheart… I can take it…”

Neal drew his mouth up to the very tip of Peter’s arousal, long and slow and pulling deep. His fingers brushed deep enough to find their target, and then Neal was sucking as hard as he could on the head of Peter’s erection, his tongue worrying the seeping tip as his fingers pressed hard against Peter’s prostate…

Release exploded out of Peter, Neal’s name ringing out into the room like the striking of a bell. Neal kept up the pressure from within and without until Peter’s entire body was shaking uncontrollably and there was nothing left to give but tiny cries of shock in the aftermath. Neal let Peter slip from his mouth and slowly extricated his hand, feeling more than a little shaky. He hadn’t gotten off; he hadn’t even removed his pants. But he was dangerously close to doing something reckless, and Peter’s surrender hadn’t brought nearly enough of his control back.

Slowly opening his eyes, Peter could see the struggle in Neal’s eyes, the need for more… the need for something hard and tempestuous… for possession. _He needs me… he needs to know I’m his… what the Hell did Keller say to him that night?_ Reaching up as Neal drew away, Peter hooked an arm around Neal’s neck and pulled him back in for a hard kiss. “I can take it, sweetheart…” His fingers flickered between them, unfastening Neal’s belt and trousers. “It’s okay…”

Neal’s breath shook out of him, an unsteady attempt at control. Peter’s offer was tempting… “Peter…”

The hand between their bodies dipped inside Neal’s boxers, cupping the erection straining at its confines. Neal let out a hoarse shout and Peter kissed him, swallowing it. “I’m yours, Neal…”

The slender measure of control Neal had managed to regain over his desires snapped.

In a moment, Neal had wrestled free of his remaining clothing and almost flung Peter back down, his mouth slashing across Peter’s in a kiss that was all conquest and no quarter. Peter let him in, barred nothing, gave everything Neal demanded. His legs parted easily when Neal’s weight pressed between them, his hips arching to grant Neal better access when Neal’s fingers returned, slick with lube this time and insisting upon entry. And damn if Peter’s erection wasn’t stirring back to life far sooner than he would’ve expected, throbbing almost painfully when Neal’s free hand and mouth began playing with the welts they’d raised only minutes ago.

It had been a long, long time since Peter had been on the receiving end, but his body remembered all too well, and when he felt Neal pressing against him, hard and hot and desperate, Peter’s body accomodated him eagerly, welcomed him home. Neal was overwhelmed as he slid easily to the hilt, stilling for a moment, lost in tight, clasping heat that was at once unfamiliar and so totally _right_ … “Peter…”

Peter’s legs slipped up around Neal’s waist, locking at the small of his back. The shift sent hot sparks through both of them and Peter let his head fall back against the pillows. “Oh, God, sweetheart…”

Neal needed no more encouragement. His hips rocked of their own volition, striking a hard, solid rhythm that set Peter writhing in his arms. He desperately sought the angle he needed, hunger driving him harder and faster with every stroke, until Peter was merely clinging to him and crying out with every breath and Neal was snarling ‘mine’, over and over, and Peter was tightening around him, crying yes, and Neal’s hand was sliding between them to grasp Peter’s aching erection and his thumb was worrying at the leaking tip because he was close, so close and he’d be damned if he was going to come before Peter…

His name ripped through Peter in a strangled scream, Peter’s muscles clenching hard and Neal let himself go, let himself fall over the edge and into Peter’s waiting arms, his vision whiting out just after seeing undiluted ecstasy etched across Peter’s face…

Slowly, achingly, Neal seemed to return to himself. Peter was cradling him, brushing gentle kisses along his hairline, comforting Neal when it was Peter who had been tossed down and fucked hard. “Peter…”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” Peter’s lips seemed never to leave Neal’s skin. “I’m okay.”

“I could’ve hurt you.”

“You didn’t, and you needed this.” Another kiss, gentling and sweet. “I’m okay.”

Neal rolled tighter into Peter, gave himself over, lips surging up into Peter’s mouth and legs tangling around Peter’s hips. He wanted forgiveness: for Campos’s death, for meeting with Keller, for the incident in the cellar. For loving Kate and worrying Peter. For needing Peter so much when Peter should only have to devote himself to Elizabeth. “I’m sorry, anyway,” Neal murmured. “Peter, please…”

Peter could sense it. Before he knew what he was even planning, he was slipping out of the bed and locating Neal’s tie. Neal’s eyes followed his every move as he returned. “Do you trust me, sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Neal’s entire body was shaking with need, knowledge of what Peter intended to do with that tie igniting him like gas splashed on a bonfire. “You’re the only one I trust, Peter.”

“Do you want a safe word?” It felt strange to ask, strange to even be thinking these things about Neal. Neal wasn’t the kind of person who liked being tied down by anything or anyone. But Peter had to ask. He wouldn’t do this without asking.

“I don’t need one with you, Peter,” Neal breathed.

The breath rushed out of Peter as the implications of that statement struck him. Stretching Neal’s arms out over his head, Peter gently looped the tie around his wrists and knotted it. Neal let him, gazing up at him, bound by much more than the slender length of silk. He could slip it if he needed to; that wasn’t the point. And then Peter sank down against him, kissing him, lips sealing so tight that they were breathing for one another, and Neal left thought behind again. He went boneless in Peter’s hands, which roamed possessively over Neal’s long, lean frame, purring and arching against Peter’s warm, solid weight.

And Peter _lingered_.

His mouth brushed across Neal’s skin, light as fairy wings, never staying long enough to suckle or nibble. The pads of his fingers grazed so gently over Neal’s long limbs that Neal couldn’t be sure he was being touched at all, save for the way his heart raced as the tendrils of contact set every nerve in his body alight…

Whimpering, pleading, Neal trembled under Peter’s attentions, vibrating like a plucked harp string as Peter left no part of his body untouched: from the tips of the fingers of his bound hands to the tender skin between his thighs to the strip of ankle concealed by the anklet and back again, slow and sweet and seemingly everywhere at once, until Neal was begging in a broken, aching voice and Peter was prepping him with those gentle fingers.

It was torture to wait, exquisite cruelty in the form of boundless affection. Peter let his fingers just graze Neal’s prostate, watching with hooded eyes of smoldering ember as Neal arched in response and pleaded without shame for more than just Peter’s hands. And Peter gave it to him when he could stand to wait no more: a long, slow glide straight to the core, and Neal’s bound hands remained where they were above his head even as his legs locked around Peter’s waist. Tears leaked from Neal’s eyes as Peter’s strokes matched the rhythm of his heart, and Peter’s lips found them, brushing them away as he cradled Neal against him and carried him to orgasm with tender compassion that was almost more than Neal could bear.

Neal’s hands slipped free of their binding when it was over, his arms wrapping around Peter’s torso in the warm silence, glad for the security of Peter’s arms that let him regain a measure of himself. He wanted to say it now. Wanted to tell Peter how much this meant to him… how much Peter meant to him. But the words refused to come, lodged in his throat and steadfastly remaining there. Neal almost felt like he was waiting: for what or when, he didn’t know. But the words would not be spoken where Peter could hear them. Not yet.

“I have to head for the office in a little bit,” Peter told him quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

“I know.” Neal nestled closer, his head resting against the hollow of Peter’s shoulder. “I have to call Moz and keep working on the bottle.”

“I know.” Brushing a tender kiss over Neal’s hair, Peter sighed. “I don’t want to go.”

“I don’t want to let you.” Neal kissed the flesh beneath his cheek, feeling it leap in response. “But we have to, don’t we?”

Peter nodded, then nestled Neal closer and tucked them a little deeper under the blankets. “There’s still time yet.”

Smiling, Neal nodded, and let himself drift in the hazy afterglow of love, the warmth of the afternoon sun, and the safety of Peter’s arms.


	5. Bottlenecked Redux – Part Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimer and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

It wasn’t easy to concentrate back at the office: not with every shift of his body reminding Peter of Neal’s possessive passion. Peter pushed through, wishing that the wine tasting had been over the weekend, or even later in the day; he and Neal could have secluded themselves at June’s, warm and safe and well-pleasured, rather than enduring this separation. Neal would have Moz in the suite by now, which meant Peter would likely have to go home to Brooklyn tonight with Neal’s passion marks on his skin and endure Elizabeth’s teasing.

Still, since there was nothing for it, Peter was forcing himself to work and concentrate and ignore the way his clothes brushed over the sensitive bite marks Neal had left when Hughes walked into his office. “This can’t be good.”

“Why does everyone say that when I walk into their office?” Hughes asked irritably.

_Because you never bring good news in person, Reese… something to work on._ “So you have good news?” Peter responded hopefully.

“No. I contacted the auction house: they’re closed to new entries.”

“Closed?” Peter’s heart sank. This was the only plan they’d come up with that might come close to working. If they couldn’t get the bottle into the auction, Keller was going to slip off their radar… _again_. “We can’t submit our bottle?”

“Sorry, Peter.” Hughes actually managed to sound sympathetic for a moment, but it didn’t last long. “Now quit the fools’ errands and catch this guy!”

Frustration billowed up inside Peter as Hughes left, causing him to throw down his pen and stare disgustedly at his computer. He knew Neal and Moz had been working for days, and would be completing the bottle tonight if everything went according to plan. It would have time to set properly; they would have time to correct any slight imperfections in the set of the label or the seal of the wax.

All that work, wasted. It made Peter ill. Neal’s disappointment would be almost impossible to bear, to say nothing of actually having no other avenue to arrest Keller.

_No… no, I won’t let this beat us. I won’t let Keller beat us. I’ll find a way to get that bottle in… there’s got to be a way to convince Hughes, to press Weatherby’s for a late entry… something…_ Yanking off Neal’s tie, Peter retrieved the spare he kept in his desk and went to grab more coffee. Every step reminded him of Neal, and it redoubled his resolve. _I’ll find a way; there has to be one…_

* * *

Hours later, and Peter had no luck. Weatherby’s didn’t accept late entries, and Hughes was implacable no matter what argument Peter attempted. There was no way to force their bottle into the auction that Peter could see, and he needed to tell Neal now, in person.

The team had ordered pizza for dinner, since they were working late on the case. Peter had grabbed a slice as he’d left, almost forgetting to eat it in his upset. It was too much to hope that Moz wasn’t still upstairs with Neal; Peter could have used the comfort of Neal’s warm, bare skin against his and the gentle drum of his heartbeat. But he could hear Moz’s voice inside Neal’s suite after he knocked, and gave up on that idea. El’s velvet-soft skin and supple curves would be his solace tonight, and they were as welcome as Neal’s sleeker lines.

“June?” came Neal’s voice from inside the suite.

“No.” Peter was a little surprised that Neal seemed not to be expecting him; they’d discussed earlier that Peter might come by after leaving the office. But Moz was there, and Peter suspected the surprise was really an act for Moz’s benefit.

The door opened, revealing a much more casual Neal than Peter was used to seeing unless they were having a lovers’ interlude. Neal was wearing a white tee, jeans and sneakers; with a start, Peter realized that Neal wasn’t wearing the chain that bore his ring. “Peter, hey… what’re you doing here?”

_Neal’s worn that ring every day since I gave it to him. Must be Haversham doesn’t know about us… and Neal probably has more than one reason for not telling him._ “Got some bad news: the auction house is closed to new entries.” Neal grimaced and waved Peter in, closing the door behind him. Peter walked to the table and got his first look at the bottle. It was a master work, flawless in every detail; Peter had studied the photos of the original almost as closely as Neal had. “I appreciate your A-Team run here, guys, but… I can’t let you take your bottle to Weatherby’s.” Anguish welled up in Neal’s eyes and Peter wanted to kiss it away, knowing what drove it, but they weren’t alone. “It’s Hughes; he pulled the plug.”

“If we don’t, they won’t run the cesium test. Keller’ll get away with a half-million dollars and probably murder.” Neal felt the opportunity slipping away, desperation edging his voice. He needed to do this; Peter couldn’t let Hughes take this away from him…

“What if he wins?” Peter countered. “Or worse: what if you win? This guy will stop at nothing.” _I don’t want to admit there’s no way out… but what happens if you do beat him? What happens if he comes after you and I don’t see him coming until it’s too late? I never should’ve agreed to this…_

“That’s why we have to stop him.” Moz’s tone, low and reasonable, startled both men. They’d forgotten for a moment that he was even in the room. “No offense, but… your team hasn’t.”

Peter saw the warning look that Neal shot Moz, obviously not happy with his friend for having reminded Peter that law enforcement had never come close to arresting Keller… especially not this close. _This is the one chance we have of nailing this guy… and Neal has his own reasons for wanting Keller taken down… I can’t let Neal down on this one. There has to be a way._ “You’re right,” he said finally. “Keep going. Let’s take him down.” Glancing at Moz, he offered the little man the half-eaten slice of pizza that he still hadn’t managed to work up an appetite for. “Finish?”

“Lactose,” Moz said simply, refusing and explaining in a single word.

Knowing better than to offer it to Neal, Peter sighed. He wished he could stay, but staying meant waiting out Moz before he and Neal could be alone, and there wasn’t much chance that would go unnoticed. “See you in the morning. I’ll call Jones and figure out a way to get this bottle into the auction.” Closing the door behind himself, Peter lingered by the door long enough to hear the flurry of activity in his wake. He thought of Neal working over the bottle, the slightly large tee rubbing against those sleek, firm muscles… of those talented fingers molding the warm, pliable wax into place…

Shaking himself, Peter slid into the driver’s seat of the Taurus and began the long drive home alone. El would be waiting when he got there, and she could assuage the ache in his body, soothe his worries… he was luckier than most men and he knew it, to have two people who could fill such roles.

If only he could shake the terrible sliver of doubt in his mind that one of them was going to leave him far sooner than he’d originally feared.

* * *

Over the next few days, those doubts were easier to set aside, letting Peter focus. He and Jones had spent most of Tuesday confirming it, but Peter had tracked down what information they’d needed to force Cadigan’s hand and get the bottle admitted. Neal was busy with Moz that day, fretting over the bottle and carefully assessing it for any faults or tells before sealing it in a transportation container and setting it carefully aside. “It’s as good as we can make it,” Neal finally advised. “Now we wait for the auction.”

It wasn’t easy for Neal to wait alone on Tuesday night, with his pre-con nerves and his jumbled emotions about Keller dogging his thoughts and refusing him rest. But Peter was with El, and Neal didn’t begrudge her that.

Wednesday night, whatever deity found Neal amusing apparently decided to cut him some slack.

Dana had come to the Burke house in tears. Peter gathered from what he could make out between sobs that she and John had another fight; his transition back from Iraq wasn’t going well and being framed for theft a few months ago hadn’t helped matters, even though he’d been exonerated in the end. El had looked at Peter in apology, and after putting Dana in the bath to try and relax, she’d emerged from the bathroom with Peter’s toiletry kit. “She doesn’t want to go home… and I know you’ve got that big case going on… would you mind staying with Neal for a couple days?”

He hadn’t minded at all.

Neither did Neal, when Peter showed up with a few overnight things and kissed him the moment he ascertained they were alone. Peter had learned his lesson well, after the last time. “Dana’s having a marital meltdown and needs to stay with El for a few days. I know last time didn’t work out so well… but could I…?”

Neal smiled into those lips, divesting Peter of his overnight bag. “If you promise to shower after you play basketball.”

“And I won’t even turn the TV on,” Peter promised, kissing Neal again and dropping his garment bag on the floor.

They didn’t make it to bed. Neal was too full of nervous energy that had suddenly found an outlet, and Peter was inflamed simply by Neal’s presence. Peter yanked and pulled at Neal’s pajamas until for all he knew they fell away in rags, but they were gone and that was all he cared about, because Neal was pulling away Peter’s clothes just as desperately, all but snarling because there was more to remove from Peter, and then Peter had Neal on his back on the table and Neal was moaning, long and loud, because Peter had produced lube from his overnight bag and was opening Neal’s body with deep, gentle strokes of those expert fingers while his tongue explored the sensitive hood of Neal’s arousal.

_Someday…_ Neal managed to think as his mind dissolved in a haze of pheromones, _I’m going to track down that college roommate of Peter’s and send him several dozen thank-you notes…_

Peter’s lips wrapped around him, suckling lazily, and Neal hooked his legs over Peter’s shoulders and abandoned any further attempt at coherent thought. This passion, hot and consuming, couldn’t last forever and Neal knew it… sooner or later, he would have to give Peter up, no matter what decision he’d made, but for now, it was to be savored…

Fingers and lips and tongue brought Neal to the brink, backed off, ramped back up again until Neal was digging his short fingernails into Peter’s scalp and keening for release, hips arching restlessly into Peter’s grip. A soft chuckle rolled around him inside that mouth, up and through him and Neal gasped, high and sharp, and then Peter was keeping Neal’s legs over his shoulders as he stood up, lined up and drove home. Neal’s breath burst out of his lungs and his hands fisted into Peter’s hair, gripping so hard that it must have hurt, the angle pressing Peter so deep… so full and thick that Neal would have panicked if it wasn’t Peter possessing him… claiming him… “Peter…”

A kiss brushed the inside of Neal’s knee; frissons of heat shot from those lips to Neal’s erection and nearly sent Neal over the edge he already teetered on. “Mine, sweetheart…” Peter’s hips snapped against his, hard and fast, and Neal’s entire body arched in response. “Mine.”

“Yes.” Neal surrendered, breathless, craving more… “Yours…”

Peter couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried. Neal didn’t want him to. The table beneath Neal’s back rattled and jumped and scuffed the floor as Peter laid claim to Neal the way he’d needed to for days, since Keller had dared to touch Neal in that wine cellar… Neal belonged to him, and no one had the right… no one…

He felt Neal erupt between them, clawing at his scalp and crying out his name. Peter almost wanted to push though, to keep going, to forestall his own release and drive Neal to one shattering climax after another until all Neal knew was Peter’s touch and breath and name…

Neal whimpered beneath him as the steady rhythm of his hips sent a cascade of orgasmic aftershocks through Neal’s body, and the sound undid Peter’s control. With a deep growl, he buried himself into Neal as release washed though him, carrying the dark urge away with it as the wave receded. A tiny cry of protest left Neal as Peter withdrew, fetching a cloth and soaking it with warm water. Boneless and half-dazed, Neal stayed as he was until Peter returned to gently cleanse away the remnants of their passion. “How long is Dana staying?” Neal finally asked, his voice reedy in the aftermath.

“Probably for a couple days, at least.” Peter smiled as Neal sat up and took the cloth from Peter, re-folding it to a clean side and cleansing Peter in turn. “It was a spectacular fight, judging from how hard she was crying when El opened the door.”

“So you can stay until the auction Saturday?” The hope was naked in Neal’s voice, naked as Neal himself was… Peter staying with him until the auction would be a perfect solution…

Scooping Neal into his arms, Peter carried Neal to bed and kissed him, tender and lingering, relaxing into the welcoming cradle of Neal’s hips and the circle of Neal’s slender arms. “Yes, sweetheart… I can stay until then.”

Luxuriating under Peter’s kisses, sighing into Peter’s skillful hands, Neal wasn’t sure they’d find the will to leave the bed before then.

* * *

It was a minor miracle in Neal’s opinion, but the lovers did manage to leave the musky bower of Neal’s bedroom and report for work on Thursday and Friday. Peter had arrangements to make for the back-up they’d need, and Hughes to convince that his plan to get the bottle into the auction would work. Neal also considered it a minor miracle that he didn’t spontaneously combust as he watched Peter in action, commanding FBI resources to his will.

_It’s a sign that I’m getting far too much sex, if that’s all I can think about during the ramp up to a con… and it’ll always be like this, once I set Kate free… it’ll be Peter and I, working cases and running undercover ops… which really aren’t much more than legal cons… and then going back to June’s and making love…_

The sound of Peter’s low laugh interrupted Neal’s reverie, focusing him for a moment. Peter was on the phone, talking to Elizabeth… laughing at something she’d said and telling her that he missed her.

A knife twisted in Neal’s heart. _Until he has to go home to his wife… a wife I adore, and would never begrudge… but Peter’s not wholly mine… not like Kate would be… I love them both… I trust Peter, and El lets me have what I need from him… and I can’t trust Kate… I’ve never been able to trust Kate… but…_

Peter hung up, and turned those shining russet eyes to Neal, beckoning him closer so they could discuss something. Instantly, Neal rose and obeyed, pushing his confusion to the back of his mind.

* * *

As usual, Saturday morning found Neal calm as the ocean on a clear summer day. Peter marveled at the composure Neal possessed, as if all the nerves and questions tumbling through his mind had fallen away in the night, leaving Neal sharp and focused and ready for anything. “Is it always like this for you?” Peter asked, watching from the couch while Neal adjusted his cufflinks and checked his appearance one last time in the mirror.

“Like what?”

“A bundle of nerves right up to the day of, then cool as a cucumber.”

Neal smiled fondly at Peter, adjusting the handkerchief in his exterior left breast pocket so that the point was perfectly centered. “Yeah… I don’t know why, but it always has been.”

Standing up and crossing to Neal’s side, Peter leaned in and brushed his mouth over Neal’s without touching him. “I don’t want to wrinkle you,” he said with a smile.

Neal quirked an eyebrow, but his answering smile was appreciative. “When this is over, you can wrinkle me all you want.”

“I’m going to take that as a promise, sweetheart.” Peter picked up the container with Neal’s forged bottle and took a deep, steadying breath. “Let’s do this.”

* * *

One of the preliminary auctions was already underway by the time they arrived. Peter and Neal were directed upstairs, where a young female auctioneer was conducting a sale with quiet decorum quite unlike the stereotypical babble associated with her job. “I see European nobles and a handful of hedge fund managers,” Peter observed quietly, “but no sign of your buddy Keller. It’s hard to arrest him on fraud if he doesn’t show up.”

“Keller wouldn’t miss the chance to see my face when this goes down,” Neal murmured, scanning the crowd. “He must be watching.”

“So he could be anywhere.” Peter caught sight of the cameras at the same time Neal did, realizing that Keller would take no chances of a confrontation with the FBI when he had a broker to represent him at the auction site. _Well, we can deal with that… if Keller thinks we’re going to be stymied by that, he’s sadly mistaken._

“No.” Neal turned to Peter, knowing their quarry all too well. “He’ll be nearby, just in case anything goes wrong.”

“Doesn’t help us much.” Peter didn’t like Keller not being on site… there was too much potential for a nasty surprise, and Keller had no compunctions about killing to achieve his goals.

_Don’t start second-guessing things, Peter… we need to pull this off… I need to beat Keller this time…_ “Think we can get this into the auction?” Neal asked, gesturing with the case containing the bottle. It was a question he’d been avoiding asking, trusting in Peter to find an answer, but he needed to know now.

Peter’s lips twitched in the faintest of conspiratorial smiles. “I have a move up my sleeve,” he assured Neal softly. “Let’s go see Cadigan.”

Since they’d asked at the desk downstairs, they needed no direction. Peter took point as they stepped across the hall, knocking on the open door as they entered. “Sir Cadigan?”

“Agent Burke.” Cadigan did not rise to greet them, nor was his tone the slightest bit welcoming. “I take it you’re here because the FBI is still interested in the Franklin bottle?”

“You could say that.” A flicker of his hand and Neal stepped forward, setting the case on the desk and flipping the latch. “We’re here to present the Franklin bottle for auction.”

Cadigan’s jaw dropped as Neal carefully removed his coup de grace from the case and set it gently on Cadigan’s desk. Peter allowed himself a moment of surprise and no little admiration for Neal’s handiwork. It was perfect in every detail: from the mounting of the brittle parchment label to the brushwork of the lettering to the set of the wax seal. Even the grime artfully rubbed over the exterior gave every appearance of being stuck fast by the march of time. _Beautiful job, sweetheart… work like this deserves a reward later, no matter what happens._

“Rodney?” Cadigan called to one of the auction-house employees outside the door. “Please bring the Franklin entry into my office at once.” When the employee rushed to obey, Cadigan fixed Neal with an assessing almost-glare. “Who is this?”

“Nicholas Halden,” Peter replied without blinking, not willing to give Cadigan Neal’s real name. “He’s a consultant for the Bureau on eighteenth century antiquities.”

Neal suppressed a smirk while Cadigan’s gaze returned to the bottle without comment. _No one would ever suspect Peter of being such a cool liar… between that, his honest face and the mind behind it, he and I could steal half the world…_

Keller’s bottle was brought, placed side by side with Neal’s on Cadigan’s desk. Peter was once again impressed by Neal’s skills. The pair was identical, perfect clones of one another. _Neal, you’re a genius… an absolute genius, sweetheart…_ “Well, Sir Cadigan?”

“I’m sorry; I can’t submit your bottle,” Cadigan declared after a moment’s consideration. “Since clearly, it has to be counterfeit.”

“ _One of them_ has to be,” Neal corrected, locking eyes with the knight-sommelier. He felt something very close to active dislike of this man, who was so quick to dismiss his work out of hand without even testing it. “How do you know it’s not yours?”

“We have reason to believe this is the real bottle,” Peter added, not liking Cadigan any more than Neal but not wanting them in a direct confrontation. He wanted Cadigan’s focus on him, wanted challenges over the bottle’s authenticity directed at him. Neal defending his work with an artist’s pride wouldn’t get them what they needed.

Cadigan leaned back, staring at the bottles again in wonder. “Where did you get it?” he asked carefully, his tone less confrontational.

Peter and Neal exchanged a brief look. There was no answer either had been able to come up with that would sound even remotely plausible and stand up to more than a few phone calls. “We’re not at liberty to say,” Peter replied finally, knowing it wasn’t a good answer and that there was no other to give.

“Ah.” Cadigan’s sharp gaze and dismissive tone in that one syllable said plainly that he didn’t find that particularly plausible if their bottle was supposed to be the real Franklin. “I won’t admit it to the auction,” he decreed with some finality.

_I knew you were going to say that… I’m going to enjoy this._ “You sure about that?” Peter challenged. “Last year you sold six magnums of Chateau LaFleur 1947 at about fifty-thousand dollars a bottle.”

“That’s public record,” Cadigan confirmed, not quite seeing Peter’s point.

“I talked to the vineyard.” Peter smiled, feeling the same thread of victory wind through his blood that he always did when he found the upper hand and got to use it. “They only produced five magnums that year.”

Neal caught Cadigan’s startled expression as he turned to glance at Peter. _Once again, he exceeds my expectations… I really do need to remember to stop underestimating him…_

Peter leaned closer, gratified by Neal’s silent admiration but not in a position to show it just now. “You don’t want people knowing you got scammed, do you?” he taunted lightly, dangling the threat almost carelessly before the no-longer-arrogant Briton. “Bad for business.”

“I guess you’ll have to test them both to find out,” Neal put in.

“I can’t!” Cadigan refused angrily. He’d been backed into a corner and he knew it, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “It would take at least three hours; the auction-”

“Can wait three hours.”

Both Peter and Neal turned as the cool female voice echoed from the doorway to Cadigan’s office. Someone had obviously informed Grace that her bottle was under suspicion, and she met their eyes with the same not-quite-detached professionalism she had displayed at Bin 903. “My client welcomes the challenge.”

“Figured he might,” Neal murmured. _And the game is on._

Satisfied that his ace had played the way he’d intended, Peter turned back to Cadigan. “Oh, while we wait: why don’t you give me the IP addresses of everyone watching on your Internet feed? Thanks.”

Cadigan withdrew without a word to speak with his employees and start the testing process. Grace remained in the doorway for only a moment longer before withdrawing herself, as she represented other bottles in the auction and couldn’t linger no matter how important the Franklin was. Neal turned to Peter and looked him over with obvious admiration. “That was impressive, Peter… how many of those lots did you have to check before you found Chateau LaFleur?”

“More than I care to remember,” Peter replied. The embers in his eyes danced, responding unconsciously to Neal’s appraisal. “We can discuss it later, if you’d like.”

“I doubt I’ll be in the mood to talk much later, Peter.” Neal’s eyes sparkled back. _I love it when he teases me… I love it when he surprises me… I really do love this man…_

Peter shrugged, grinning, and then an auction-house employee returned to Cadigan’s office with the IP addresses.

They were in play.

* * *

Every second of the next three hours seemed to etch their way across Neal’s skin, as if he were standing inside an hour glass directly under the flow of sand. Peter was in and out, talking to the team and setting up to move on Keller once they found him, but Neal didn’t dare step out for a moment. If even one thing went wrong… one anomaly detected before the cesium was run…

There was nothing. Each test passed, exactly as Neal had planned. The cesium test was all that remained, and judging by the flurry of movement by the Weatherby’s employees, that had finally come back as well. Neal caught the whispers between Cadigan and his subordinates and stepped into the hall with Peter, who was talking to Lauren about a parking garage before hanging up the phone. “They’re about to announce the results of the test,” he murmured, feeling a little breathless in anticipation. _This is the moment when I know… when I find out for sure who’s really the best…_

Peter could sense Neal’s excitement, wanted to kiss him for it… it wasn’t easy to restrain the impulse, no matter how often he had to do so. He seemed always to be thinking about it… wishing the world were different so he could and it wouldn’t be the least bit remarkable… “We’re about to move on Keller.”

Neal grinned, a surge of preliminary victory warming through his veins. “Sounds like checkmate to me.” He turned back into the auction room, Peter a step behind him.

“Thank you again for your patience,” Cadigan was saying, addressing the auction’s attendees. “We apologize for the delay, but, as some of you are aware, we have had to conduct a cesium test to verify the authenticity of the two bottles we have been presented with. The test shows that one of the bottles… is a forgery.”

Gasps went up around the room. Neal felt his jaw drop open in undisguised shock, Peter’s murmured “One of the bottles?” echoing his own thoughts. _It’s not possible… it’s absolutely not even remotely possible that Keller actually mocked up a Franklin bottle that could pass a cesium test… he’s nowhere near good enough… it can’t be…_

“The other, represented by Miss Grace Quinn,” Cadigan continued, oblivious to Neal and Peter’s dismay, “is authentic. Thank you for your patience; the bidding will commence shortly.”

Putting a hand on Neal’s elbow, Peter drew him a step further back. He was still on astonishment that Keller’s bottle had beaten the cesium test, while Neal’s eyes had taken on a shrewd, calculating glint. “You said it was impossible to fake.”

“It _is_ impossible,” Neal hissed. _For Keller, anyway… he’s not good enough… there’s only one person in the world I know for sure could beat it, and it’s not Keller… and I’m not even sure I could have done it, even with the right wine… Keller’s bottle can’t have been his own work… and there’s no way Vincent would have helped him… so those results shouldn’t be possible… unless…_

Realization dawned on Peter at the same time it did Neal, their voices mingling in a baritone harmony of bitter understanding. “Unless he had the real bottle all along.”

Neal fumed at the very idea of it, the full board visible at last now that so many of Neal’s pieces were captured. Peter still couldn’t see it, not understanding the beau monde and not knowing Keller nearly well enough. “If Keller had the real bottle,” Peter demanded, “why would he go through all this? Why pretend to have a fake?”

Glancing at the now buzzing gallery, Neal felt gall rise hot and acidic in his throat and gestured. He couldn’t speak, choked by his own anger at being so perfectly played by Keller. _Before prison, I never would have fallen for this… never would have let Keller play me for a sap… as if I needed more proof that I can never go back to the life…_

Peter caught his meaning in an instant. Buyers and brokers were frantically contacting their clients, and Weatherby’s employees monitoring the Internet feeds were typing furiously. “Wanted to drive up the price… damn! That’s it.”

“Surround the bottle with controversy: now everyone in here’s dying to get their hands on it.” Neal had never been so furious in his life. He’d lost contests before, and most of the time, it was a bruise to the ego but could be shaken off. This time, Keller had baited him with Kate, murdered an innocent man and played him for a chump… and all right in front of Peter. Peter seeing how easily Keller had manipulated him seared like an open wound… it had never been like this with Kate, who knew the vagaries of the game and had lost her share of schemes. To be shown up like this in front of Peter was utterly humiliating, and he was certain Keller had known it would be.

“It’ll go for double, even triple the price now,” Peter predicted angrily. Besides the loss of their only real case against Keller, Peter was hot with anger on Neal’s behalf. Keller had played Neal as a dupe, which was damned near impossible to do, and Peter was willing to bet that whatever Keller had said the night Neal had met with him on Water Street had been an emotional sucker-punch, aimed specifically at getting Neal mad enough to play Keller’s game and blinding him to this possibility.

“Which gives him more than enough money to pay off his debt to the Russians,” Neal agreed. “He used me to do it.”

“This was his plan the whole time.” The bitter self-recrimination in Neal’s voice had Peter seeing red. “He’s good.”

_Almost as good as me… and now that he knows we know, he’s not going to waste any time._ “We have to arrest him now,” Neal whispered urgently. “Soon as this auction ends, he’s gone.”

Much as Peter hated to admit it, they’d both been played as neatly as Interpol and half a dozen other law enforcement agencies that had targeted Keller in the past. “What am I gonna arrest him on? I mean, we have nothing on him now.”

For a moment, Neal wracked his mind, reliving every moment of the last week that wasn’t a haze of passion in Peter’s arms: every word and stray thought and scrap of paper… anything that could tie Keller to something… even if it was small… meaningless… it would be a foot in the door and give Peter time to find out how Keller had gotten the real bottle… there was no way he’d purchased it legally from the owner… Neal’s eyes brightened suddenly as the answer struck him. “Trespassing.”

Peter blinked. _Trespassing? Seriously? After all this work and drama, I’m going to arrest him on trespassing?_ It was thin… damned thin and Hughes would likely have an aneurysm, but if Neal could give him even that much… “I can’t believe I’m gonna ask you this… but have you seen him trespass?”

“I have, actually,” Neal promised, some of the brightness returning to his eyes as he saw a way to redeem himself in Peter’s. “At a construction site; it had a ‘No Trespassing’ sign and everything!”

_Which means I can use Neal’s tracking anklet data to get the location… maybe even get some security camera footage from the area… if Neal went in there with him, I can always play that off as working for us because Keller was a person of interest in another case at the time… this could work…_ “We may not be able to hold him for long, but…” Peter didn’t finish the sentence, glancing at his watch. They needed to move on Keller’s suspected location in the parking garage nearby, before the auction was over. “Finding Keller’s gonna take a bit.”

Neal tried to choke back the fear that suddenly welled up inside him. This was the part he couldn’t help Peter with… couldn’t protect Peter… “All right, well… I’ll stall until you can get him.”

The possibilities that encompassed set off alarms in Peter’s head. This was personal to both of them, but more so for Neal than it ever could be for him. “Nothing-”

“Illegal; I know.”

It was a circumstance Peter had courted with every careless word he’d ever spoken, that Neal thought Peter was about to say ‘illegal’ and not ‘dangerous’. It still hurt to hear it. But there was no more time to delay by correcting Neal, and Peter could only let a flash of warmth flicker in his eyes before he was leaving to meet the team.

When Peter was out of sight, Neal forced himself to breathe, to think. Stalling the auction entirely was out of the question; there was no challenging the test results when Keller had entered the real bottle. But the resulting uproar was enough of a delay to give him space to plan… and try not to worry about Peter finding Keller in the company of Russian mobsters waiting for the auction’s end.


	6. Bottlenecked Redux – Part Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see Chapter One for notes, warnings, disclaimer and song list.

  
[ ](http://pics.livejournal.com/ladyeternal/pic/00004ab7/)

~ooooOOOoooo~

 

It was fear for Peter that prompted Neal to have Moz locating the Russians Keller owed money to; the need for a distraction that made him instruct Mozzie to come to Weatherby’s rather than call or text him the information he needed. Anything was better than worrying, and Neal had to control this end of the game. Peter trusted him to handle it. Neal just didn’t know how precisely he was going to manage that yet.

While Moz didn’t quite fit into the Weatherby’s crowd, he looked respectable enough not to be noticeable as he sat down beside Neal. Neal’s eyes scanned the crowd, repeatedly brushing over Grace, who stood demurely on one side of the room to observe the auction, and Sir Cadigan, who was running the Franklin bottle auction personally. “What’d you find out?”

“I did follow-up on your suit’s intel,” Mozzie murmured. “It turns out the Russians are indeed after Keller: they want their money now. And Sergei _himself_ is in town; he wants personal assurance from Keller that he’s gonna get paid the moment this auction is done.”

_So… Keller’s out of time, or at least out of excuses. If we can somehow keep Keller from collecting at the end of the auction, it’ll be a choice between jail and the Russians… and Keller might be ham-fisted sometimes, but he’s not stupid._ A plan began to form in Neal’s mind: an answer so utterly simple that Neal was surprised it had taken him this long to find it. “I got an idea.”

“You always have an idea,” Moz replied, somewhat sourly. “What’s the plan?”

Sparks danced in Neal’s eyes; the dangerous glitter of a predator scenting blood. “We play to win.”

Mozzie’s eyes went wide as the bidding climbed towards half a million dollars. _Is he insane? How exactly does he think that we’re going to put this much cash together? Not to mention the suit’s going to completely lose it when he finds out… What the Hell is Neal playing at?_

For the most part, Neal ignored Moz’s increasing confusion, concentrating on the pattern of the bidding. There was only so high the numbers would climb… and they had to be ready to seize the moment and outbid all the others by enough that there would be no challenges… _This is going to work… this is going to work and it’ll buy Peter the time he needs… please be all right, Peter… please don’t have backed Keller into a corner… please be okay…_

The worry was starting to show on his face, although he could play that off as anxiety over the auction as the bidding soared higher. It was taking too long… if Peter didn’t find Keller soon, they’d have to act and risk losing him anyway…

Relief had never washed so sweetly over Neal as it did when his phone vibrated sharply in his hand. Turning away from Moz, Neal tried to keep the extent of it from his voice. “Peter?”

_“He’s not here. Security cameras have him fleeing the scene: hot-wired another car two minutes before we cordoned off the building.”_

Disappointment edged the overwhelming gratitude that Peter hadn’t been walking into a trap. “So… you have no idea where he is?”

_“We’re pulling surveillance on him now with traffic cams… putting together a timeline. Couldn’t have gotten far: didn’t have time to take any of his things with him.”_

“His things?” Neal couldn’t imagine what Keller might have had with him that he’d leave behind; one thing both men had in common was that they could and did travel light when running a con. Never bring more than you can carry in one bag unless it was expendable…

_“Yeah, he had a laptop that he was monitoring the auction from.”_

_A laptop… no wonder he left it behind… probably picked it up cheap just for this and was planning to leave it when this was over… but if that’s what he was using…_ “You mean he’s not watching the auction anymore?” Neal was reasonably sure he wasn’t, but if there was any clue on that surveillance footage that Keller had transferred his feed to a cell phone, he needed to know now.

_“Probably not. Too concerned with getting the Hell out of here.”_

“All right… find out where he’s headed.” Hanging up, Neal turned back in his seat. Grace was watching him, her expression guarded; she’d obviously been instructed to warn Keller if Neal made any kind of disturbance or challenge at the last moment. The bidding had climbed to eight-hundred thousand dollars; Neal knew it wasn’t going to climb higher unless someone was desperate enough to try and outbid them. “Now, Moz… seven figures.”

“This is a lousy idea,” Moz protested, uncomfortable enough with the situation and having no idea, for once, where Neal intended to take this little ploy.

_If there was ever a time when I wanted to tell Moz to trust me… as if that would make him do so anyway…_ “Do it, Moz,” Neal hissed, getting edgy. It was dangerously close to being too late, and he couldn’t make the move himself without Grace tipping Keller off…

“Fair warning!” called Sir Cadigan from the podium. “I can sell for eight-hundred thousand dollars…”

“Do it!” Neal snapped, losing patience with Mozzie’s recalcitrance.

_If this backfires, you’re on your own to deal with it, Neal._ Standing up as Cadigan was about to sell, Moz raised his seller number. “One million dollars!”

Gasps went up around the room. Heads snapped their direction, though Neal wasn’t their focus at the moment. “Thank you, sir!” Cadigan half-breathed. “One million dollars…” There were no challenges, of course… no one was willing to escalate the bids any higher, as Neal had anticipated. “And sold!”

Light applause broke around the room. Neal clapped right along with them, thrilled that Moz had finally gotten on board even as Moz sank down into the chair looking pale and asking what Neal had gotten them into. Neal ignored the question and pulled out his phone, dialing Peter as he stepped away from Moz and the crowd. “Peter, where are you?”

_“Still in the garage… what happened?”_

The glow of self-confidence was starting to return; this was going to knock Peter’s ridiculously-adorable socks off. “I won the bid.”

_**“What?!”** _

_Oh, yeah… shock in his voice? Always worth it._ “Don’t worry,” Neal soothed. “I’ve got a plan.”

_“You usually do.”_

“What’s the status on Keller?” Neal asked, ignoring the light sarcasm in Peter’s tone.

_“Headquarters is monitoring his movements in real time on traffic cams. Looks like he’s moving south on Park.”_

_Not many places Sergei would be willing to meet down in that area… unless…_ “South on Park… thanks.” Neal hung up and walked back to Moz, who was still looking vaguely pole-axed in the face of all the congratulations he was receiving from fellow auction-goers. “I know where Keller’s going.”

“Where?” Moz asked, rising to follow Neal and grateful for the distraction from the enormity of committing a million dollars that neither man actually had to this little escapade.

“Downtown Manhattan Helipad,” Neal replied quickly as they slipped into the hallway. “Sergei’s not going to waste time here when the auction is so high profile; if Keller comes through, Sergei will want secure surroundings for the payoff. If he can’t, he’ll want…”

“Privacy,” Moz finished, his voice a little sick. “So now what?”

Neal smiled his gamine smile. “I’m Nick Halden; you’re Neal Caffrey’s attorney. You’re representing him at the auction; tell them that you were authorized to bid as much as necessary and there are financial arrangements to make in order to pay off the bid. They’ll give you a timeframe; not long, but long enough to suit. I’ve got to get to the helipad before him.”

Moz grinned, not bothering to ask how Neal planned on managing that as his protégé sprinted down the stairs. _He always manages… his luck’s held for longer than anyone I’ve ever seen… I almost hate to think what’ll happen when it finally runs out._

* * *

Sergei was landing. Neal saw Keller walking towards the sleek black helicopter, the swagger in his step communicating for all to see that he believed he’d won. Neal felt his heart give a sharp little leap of sadistic joy at the thought of what he was about to do to the smug bastard. _This is what happens when you threaten the people I love, Keller… I won’t let you or Fowler hurt them and get away with it…_ “Bravo, Keller!” he shouted, pitching his voice to be heard over the pulsing whir of helicopter blades as he strode forward, putting himself between Keller and the chopper. “Seriously.”

“Wow…” Keller stopped a few feet away, arrogance etched in every line of his face, as if Neal standing between he and Sergei’s helicopter delaying his escape was merely a last-minute goodbye from a dear friend. “So you came by to see me off, huh, Caffrey? Who knew you were such a gracious loser?”

“I have to admit: using the real Ben Franklin bottle? Did not see that coming.” _And I should have… I’ve let my instincts get dull in prison and distracted by Peter… I should have anticipated that angle, especially from Keller…_ “Stroke of genius… really.”

“Thanks.” Keller managed to look a little modest, a little grateful. It made Neal sick inside. “Actually means a lot coming from you. Only wish Kate was around to see; I mean, we both know she always loved a winner, right?” Keller saw the angry tightness around Neal’s eyes, the set of his jaw, and couldn’t resist. Pushing Neal’s temper was the one thing Keller had never been able to resist; not when Neal was always so charming and polished and never let his guard down, never let anyone see him dirty or messy or human. Never let anyone see his flaws. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll look her up: see if she still does.”

There was only a faint tic in Neal’s jaw to betray the hot flush of anger and jealousy in his veins. Keller was still pushing, still dangling Kate between them as if her affections had never been truly won. And try as Neal might, he couldn’t bring himself not to care. He would set Kate free, but not so she could go running into Keller’s arms. After all this, he was going to make sure Keller never got the satisfaction.

“So… I’m curious,” Keller continued, sensing that Neal wasn’t going to rise to the bait this time. “How’d you find me?”

“Checked Sergei’s travel plans,” Neal lied, nodding at the helicopter. He wasn’t about to betray that the FBI had tracked him and was on its way, not while Keller could still get past him and into that chopper before they could arrive. “See he does it in style.” Keller laughed, and Neal dropped the amusement in his voice, light as it had been. “I also hear he doesn’t take it lightly when someone owes him money.”

“Owed,” Keller corrected. “As in past tense. Yeah, you see: our, uh… little go-around with the bottle? Cleared my debts.” Pacing closer, Keller edged around Neal just a little, just enough that a good sprint and he’d be in the chopper. Sergei wouldn’t wait forever, no matter how magnanimous he might be feeling at knowing Keller was going to pay him in full with interest. “In fact, I just got a text from my broker. Bottle went for seven figures.”

“Wow! Wow… congratulations.” Neal feigned shock, knowing he was putting on a good show. Keller was buying it, thanking Neal for his praise, his illusion of triumph not letting him see the telltale signs on Neal’s face. “So it was a two-birds-one-stone thing: humiliate me, turn a hefty profit while you’re at it?”

Keller shrugged, no longer bearing even a trace of modesty. “See? Now you’re catching on, Neal.” Glancing at Sergei over Neal’s shoulder, seeing the impatience starting to edge the Russian’s face, Keller decided he’d gloated enough for one day. “Listen, I’d love to chat, buddy, but… unless you’ve got anything else, I should get going, all right?” He stepped around Neal, walking to the helicopter and tossing a ‘be good’ over his shoulder: one last pinch of salt for the wounds he was leaving.

Neal turned, cold satisfaction settling in his stomach. _This is going to be fun._ “I haven’t made my offer yet.”

Keller paused, turning and quirking one eyebrow at Neal: a silent question that Neal only answered with a faint smile. Glancing at his watch, Keller turned more completely and gave Neal his full attention. “This should be good.”

_Oh, it will be… but not for you._ “I’d like to offer you the opportunity to make a full confession for your crimes,” Neal informed him coolly, his own brand of superior smugness infusing his face. Peter would be here momentarily, and he would be handing Keller to Peter on a silver platter. “The robbery of the Natural History Museum… murder of Manuel Campos… anything else you want to add in.”

“You know what? I was wrong.” Keller shook his head, almost looking disappointed. “This isn’t good; it’s sad, man. This is a moment I’ll cherish: seeing you at your most desperate.”

Offering only a small fraction of a smile, Neal waited until Keller had turned back and taken another few steps towards the helicopter. He heard the FBI cars pulling in behind him, could almost sense Peter’s presence as he stepped out of the Taurus. “The winner of the Franklin bottle?” Neal called. “It wouldn’t happen to be Bidder Number 57, would it?”

This time, Neal could see Keller’s shoulders stiffen, bracing against an unpleasant development he hadn’t seen coming. It was a moment Neal was going to cherish for many years to come. “Why?” was Keller’s suspicious response as he turned.

Neal flashed him a roguish smile that somehow managed to look almost abashed at the same time. “Now this is just awkward… but I don’t have a million dollars!” Peter was walking up beside him, tall and imposing and steadying; Neal clung to the feel of Peter’s vibrant presence nearby, inuring himself against any more digs Keller might cast back at him. Praying that the Russians would leave rather than make a scene. “Luckily, the auction house said they’d give me a week to put the money together.”

“A week, huh?” Keller seemed to weigh his odds of staying alive long enough to collect, his chances of talking Sergei into giving him that much time due to uncontrollable variables in the scenario. “You know what? A week’s not that long. I can buy that.”

“Did you tell him I’m launching a full-blown federal investigation on the bottle?” Peter offered, smoothly taking the opening Neal had given him. They’d discussed this scenario while Neal had sped to the helipad in a cab, somehow beating the FBI here by two whole minutes. Peter had actually laughed when Neal had laid out his plan to thwart Keller, knowing he was likely going to enjoy this about three-quarters as much as Neal himself was.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, there’s that, too.” Neal was trying not to grin at Peter, though the mock-innocence in both their voices left little doubt that they had coordinated their nasty little surprise well. “How long can a federal investigation go on for?”

“Not sure.” Peter couldn’t hold the smirk that pulled at his lips, loving the way he and Neal played off each other so easily. Even on the same side, it was a dance they moved through all too well. “Years.”

“Years? Wow.” Keller muttered an expletive that Neal barely heard, and Neal dropped his guileless, bantering expression. “How patient are Sergei and your Russian friends?” _Like we both don’t already know. You don’t do business with these people, Keller… not if you like living. Sooner or later, something goes wrong, and when it does, they’re rarely merciful._

“You can take a helicopter ride and find out,” Peter added, an extra taunt to remind Keller of precisely where he stood. “Or you can come with us. Your choice.”

Keller didn’t bother to look at Peter. He just kept looking at Neal, his expression speculative, as if trying to decide whether or not to acknowledge checkmate. Finally, something seemed to give in those dark eyes, and Keller gave a half-chuckle. “Well played,” he conceded, dropping his bag on the tarmac.

There was a bitterness to the triumph that Neal hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t the grand challenge that the Franklin contest had been meant to be. Now that Neal had won, Keller wasn’t going to just slink off with his tail between his legs, only to cross Neal’s path again with some even more impossible gauntlet to throw down between them. Keller was going to prison, for a long time, and Neal knew what waited for him there. And Neal hadn’t bested him in any manner that would lead to bragging rights, as would have come with an actual forgery of the Franklin. There was a part of Neal that didn’t want anyone to ever know about this.

_Simpler times… simpler games… and I can never go back._

“Good game, Keller.” The words pushed out through a throat half-closed with regret and reservations. Keller did and didn’t deserve the fate waiting for him, and Neal had no idea how to deal with what he was feeling now.

“Game ain’t over,” Keller corrected, his arrogance reasserting itself.

“Help this gentleman into the car,” Peter instructed. He didn’t want Keller baiting Neal any longer, recognizing the tightness around Neal’s eyes and the stiff set of his shoulders.

Price stepped behind Keller, opening a pair of handcuffs. A dark, possessive corner of Neal’s mind was savagely glad that Peter wasn’t doing it himself. “Looks that way to me,” Neal observed, trying to hide the tangle of emotions suddenly roaring inside his head.

“Yeah?” Keller’s voice held no trace of defeat, even as he was cuffed by federal agents. “Well, you were locked up… broke out. Maybe it’s my turn to accept a challenge. Best two out of three.” When Neal didn’t respond, only looked at Keller with veiled blue eyes, Keller knew there was more here than Neal would ever say… especially in front of his FBI keepers. “I’ll see you ‘round, Caffrey.”

Something flared inside Neal: a reminder of who he was, and who Keller still saw him as, no matter what he wore around his ankle. A promise made, a challenge accepted. It kindled the dying embers of a life to which Neal didn’t think he could ever return, and Neal stepped close before he could think better of it, taking Keller’s elbow in his hand and bending to his ear. “I’m counting the days,” he murmured, fierce and challenging right back, acknowledging every unspoken word in Keller’s tone. Keller’s expression never wavered as Price and Bennett escorted him to the suburban for transport.

“Poor Sergei’s going home empty-handed,” Peter commented, hoping to draw Neal into some kind of repartee as he picked up the duffel bag Keller had dropped on the tarmac. Neal had turned to watch Keller being put in the back of the suburban; Peter had been the one putting Neal in the car, all those years ago. He didn’t want Neal reminded of that moment. Didn’t want Neal thinking about what was waiting for Keller at the end of the line.

But Neal didn’t respond, his thoughts hidden behind the mask his face had become. _I wish I knew what he was thinking… but this isn’t any kind of a place where I can try and find out._ Patting Neal’s shoulder, Peter walked to the car and tossed the duffel in the back seat. Lauren climbed in the passenger side, and Peter took the opportunity to walk back over to Neal for a private word. Sergei’s helicopter had taken off again, and Neal had turned to watch the Russians leave. “You coming? I can drop you at June’s, if you don’t want to come to the office…”

The smile Neal managed was just a little wobbly, and didn’t meet his eyes. “No… I think I just want to be alone for a little while… clear my head.”

Peter nodded, wanting to reach out and draw Neal into his arms. Wanting to comfort Neal while Neal put the demons Keller had awakened to rest. “Okay… but if you’re not home by the time I get there, I’m coming to get you, no matter what you’re in the middle of.”

That got a laugh, and Neal’s eyes warmed just a little. “I won’t be that long, Peter… I promise. Go on; do your thing… you did the impossible, again. Caught a man no one else could.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Neal,” Peter replied, reaching up and placing his right index finger in the center of Neal’s chest. “Whatever else you’re thinking, don’t forget that Keller’s not like you. He’s a murderer, and he’s off the street tonight, and that’s a good thing. Always.”

Neal nodded, the warmth in his eyes darkening again. “Go on, Peter… I’m fine.”

Reluctantly, Peter nodded, sighing as he resisted the urge to kiss Neal good-bye. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

* * *

Standing on the helipad, alone, wind whipping through his hair, Neal stared up across the water, his mind far away.

The Brooklyn Bridge. Across that bridge lay Peter’s home… and Elizabeth’s… a place of warmth and comfort, life and love. Coffee and cereal in the mornings, nights by the fireplace… laughter and simple pleasures. The Burkes included him so easily when he was there… wrapped him up in the warmth that they exuded… made him feel like he belonged.

Neal had never really belonged anywhere. He was a confidence man masquerading among the elite, a criminal who preferred non-violence in an age when guns were more plentiful than food, a felon among officers of the law. Keller’s presence, his taunts, his game, had sharply reminded Neal of that. It had been too easy to grow comfortable in the life he was leading, to forget, in the process of pleasing Peter so well, who and what he really was. He had always been just out of step, slightly out of place. It was something he’d gotten used to, over the years.

But it hadn’t hurt in a long, long time… not like this.

Even more than before his prison term, Neal knew he no longer fit into the criminal world. His status as an FBI consultant was too well known, and his instincts were dulling. He’d missed things about this little escapade Keller had set up that he wouldn’t have before. Missing things with FBI protection at his back was bad enough. Missing something if and when he returned to the wind would get him killed.

And he knew, at the end of the day, that Kate would never understand if he didn’t return to the life. He’d taught her well, honed her natural talents as Moz had him, but both she and Moz regarded him as a genius, a legend, unrivaled in the U.S. and matched by only one man in Europe. Kate wouldn’t understand why he would turn his back on the life now; would go her own way eventually. He knew, deep down, that their relationship wouldn’t survive the strain if he didn’t return to a life of crime. That the lack of trust between them would eventually tear them apart.

But if he stayed, if he gave her up and stayed here… stayed in his relationship with Peter… Neal had no idea what precisely he was staying for.

Peter was a generous lover: gentle and kind and unceasingly giving. Neal had never, in all of his life, made love to someone he genuinely trusted before Peter. It had always had an edge of mistrust, a hint of power plays, the taint of deception or the tinge of reserve. With Peter, Neal felt no need or desire to hold anything back… and that was the whole problem. Neal wanted to give everything of himself into Peter’s hands… and Peter couldn’t do the same in return. A part of Peter had belonged to Elizabeth long before he’d ever heard of Neal Caffrey. Elizabeth was sharing Peter with Neal… and as easily as she had given, she could take him away.

And even if she didn’t, Neal was sure that eventually his heart would tear itself to pieces for want of the man he loved. For need of the safety Peter represented. Already the nights when Peter split his time between his wife and his lover were spent by Neal wishing Peter were near. As time progressed, the contrast between having Peter and not having him would only get harder to bear. And Neal was sure that it wouldn’t be any easier on Peter and Elizabeth.

Yet Neal was afraid to ask for more. Afraid that, sooner or later, even the belonging he felt with the Burkes would fade. Afraid to ask Elizabeth to share the forever Peter had promised her nearly eleven years ago. It was impossible to think that she would share more: not just Peter, but her home, her family… maybe even children, someday.

If he could keep this… if he dared to try… if Peter and Elizabeth both said yes… what would he be? When the Burkes were no longer childless, what would that make him? Neal had no frame of reference for this. His dreams of a life with Peter had always included Elizabeth, from the very first night he’d realized he was in love with Peter. The strangeness of that, of wanting permanency with the two of them… and yet, images of one wouldn’t come without the other. Something inside that wondered… that wanted… that believed he could have something of love and family with them; everything he’d wanted with Kate, everything they’d been denied, he might have with the Burkes, if he was brave enough to try for it.

So why was he so afraid?

_Because they’re strong enough to say no…_

_Moz is right. Keller never had a chance with Kate, not once I determined to have her. I’ve never lost a romantic target, once I made up my mind. But Peter’s strong enough to hold back… to resist… to say no more… and so is El. All my wiles won’t coax it into a yes. It’s all or nothing, and no second chances._

_But they’re all I have now… and they do care… even if it’s not love, they do care… I can try… Moz said it before: I have enough mystery in my life… maybe it really is time to just let Kate go… Elizabeth said that she’d tell me why when she knew how I would choose… if I talk to her… tell her that I want more than just splitting Peter like a timeshare condo… whether she says yes or no, that mystery will be solved, too, and I can move forward…_

He felt Moz approach; a faint extra-sensory prickle born from years of familiarity. “Did I miss Keller?” Moz asked eagerly. Neal merely nodded. “Damn! I wanted to see him do the perp walk.”

“Sorry.” Neal didn’t honestly think it was anything Moz would really mind having missed; neither man was unfamiliar with handcuffs and Miranda rights. “Good news is he won’t be bothering us for a while.”

“How long is a while?”

Neal smiled faintly, knowing that Moz knew Keller almost as well as he knew Neal. The question was more than fair. “Maybe long enough to finish our chess game.”

Moz gave a half-smile of his own. “Think they have a prison that can hold him?”

_Considering the fact that he’s always needed to outdo me? Not likely._ “I don’t know,” Neal murmured, his thoughts drifting again. He couldn’t stop looking at the bridge… at the perfect symbol it made… he and Peter, worlds apart, connected by something that seemed as permanent as bedrock, but was so fragile… so delicately balanced…

Seeing Neal’s thoughts turn inward, Moz tried to pull Neal back into the present. “Okay, so what’s the bad news?”

Neal could only smile again, knowing that Moz would have seen this one coming a mile off. “You won’t be drinking a million-dollar bottle of wine tonight,” he replied ruefully.

“I’ll live.” Moz turned to look at the bridge, wondering why it was drawing Neal’s focus. Something about Neal seemed so lost…

“You were right,” Neal told him after a long, silent moment. “I could use one less mystery in my life.” _I’ll have to tell him… when I know for sure, if it goes my way… I’ll have to tell him everything… and I don’t know how he’ll react, but it won’t be jumping for joy…_

“Oh… I rescind that comment.” Moz didn’t know what Neal was thinking that had made him finally agree, but he also knew Neal very well. If he didn’t eventually get Kate away from Fowler, he’d never forgive himself. Moz wouldn’t allow Neal to just let the whole thing go when the guilt would eat Neal alive for years. “There’s suddenly been a lot of chatter about the music box. You need to talk to Alex.”

A chill ran up Neal’s spine that had nothing to do with the wind whipping across the river. Foreboding clenched darkly in his gut: a primal sense that danger was on the horizon. “She won’t tell me anything while I’m work for the FBI,” Neal protested, almost not wanting to know what Alex might have to tell him. But he couldn’t just leave Kate at Fowler’s mercy… even if he eventually let her go, she was only in this situation because of him…

“Then… make it worth her while.”

Neal knew what Moz was suggesting. It wasn’t an abhorrent notion on its face. Alex was beautiful and cunning and susceptible to his charms, even with how little trust lay between them. But even if he was thinking of letting Kate go when all this was over, Neal couldn’t take that step. Elizabeth’s rules, and his own heart, wouldn’t let him do that to Peter. “I’ll figure it out, Moz,” Neal advised, his voice as distant as the stars. “I’ll figure something out.” _I have to… because I can’t let Kate go until I set her free… I’ll figure out if I’m making the right call… find a way out of this mess for both of us… I have to… it’s my fault…_

Moz made a soft sound of acknowledgment, and Neal turned and walked away. He needed to hail a cab, needed to get home. Peter was waiting for him.


End file.
